


We Can Work It Out

by hello_goodbi



Category: The Beatles
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, College, I'm Bad At Tagging, Lots of Angst, McLennon, Modern AU, Modern Era, Multi, Slow Burn, University, at least i'm trying to make it a slow burn, beatles au, but - Freeform, eventual mclennon, i have no idea what i'm doing lmao, idk if this counts as a slow burn anymore, it takes a bit to get there, mclennon is coming i promise, uni - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-10-25 21:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10772658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hello_goodbi/pseuds/hello_goodbi
Summary: Of all the roommates he could’ve been randomly assigned to, Paul just had to be stuck with John. It’s going to be a bloody miracle if they can make it through the year without coming to blows.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! So this is the first Beatles thing I've ever written (though I've read lots) so I hope you enjoy it!

There it was. The university he’d be spending the next four years of his life at. Well, obviously, not the _entirety_ of the four years, but it was near as made no difference. Paul was here. He was here for good.

“C’mon, Paulie boy,” his father, Jim, said, gently nudging Paul on the arm. “We should get this up to yer room, shouldn’t we? Ye’ll have plenty of time to look at all this later.”

“Erm, yeah, I guess we should,” Paul laughed sheepishly. He hoisted one of his many suitcases over his shoulder and began walking towards the entrance of Reed Hall. He walked slowly -- in part to make sure he didn’t leave his father and stepmother behind -- but also so that he could look at the campus and the people around him. There were carefree people -- probably seniors or juniors -- strolling around campus, but there were also nervous freshmen with parents and luggage in tow.

Somehow, he made it all the way up to his dorm without dropping or losing anything. They stopped outside of the door as Paul fumbled with the key. He stuck it in the lock, twisted the doorknob, and swung the door open to find his roommate already fully moved into their dorm. However, said roommate was nowhere in sight.

“Well, we’ll get you moved in, love,” Angie smiled as she set her boxes onto the floor. “Then Jim and I should probably go find our hotel.”

“Oh, no, Angie, I can go help you and Dad find the hotel,” Paul offered. “Really. I should get to know Boulder while I can, before classes start an’ all.”

“No, Paul. Get to know yer roommate, okay? Yer at college, fer fuck’s sake. Yeh’ve got to talk to people!” His father pulled more boxes into the large dorm and shut the door behind him. “But fer now, let’s have a look at yer room, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Paul shook his head distractedly.

“It’s bloody ‘uge, isn’t it then? And yeh've got a fuckin' kitchen!"

“I told you I got the apartment set-up, didn’t I?"

“Yeah, but I didn’t quite realize how fuckin’ big it’d be.”

“Well, c’mon then. Let’s start unpacking.”

They unpacked in relative silence. Paul didn’t have a whole lot of things with him -- there wasn’t a whole lot he felt needed to fly across the ocean with him -- so it didn’t take long. The most important things he had were his bass, his amp, and his little red electric guitar. He kept those on his side of their shared bedroom, as far away from his roommate's bed as possible. Paul didn't want to think the worst of his roommate, especially as they hadn't even met yet, but he felt he'd better be safe than sorry. 

“Well, I guess we’ll see you before we leave tomorrow,” Angie said, adjusting the pillows on Paul’s bed one final time.

“Angie, I told you I don’t need so many pillows.” Paul was trying to delay the inevitable. As much as he hated to admit it, he was terrified of being all on his own.

“Well, you can take them off later. It makes me feel better to know you have so many pillows.”

“Okay. Okay. I guess I’ll see you two for lunch before you get on the plane tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Angie and Jim said at the same time.

“Make sure an’ call yer brother before you do anything. Yer grandmum’s staying with him and she wants to talk to you before too long,” Jim said as they awkwardly shuffled out of the bedroom Paul shared with his roommate and into the combined kitchen and living room area.

“Christ, Dad, it’s, what, ten thirty at night in Liverpool. Grandmum’s probably asleep at this point anyway.”

“Just, call yer bother, okay?

“Okay. Bye, Angie. Bye, Dad.” Paul gave them both an awkward half hug just before they left his dorm. When they were gone and the door shut firmly behind them, he collapsed onto the small couch and scrolled through his phone. He could call Mikey later, but right now he just wanted to text some of his friends back home. Paul was just about to get up and try and find his way around campus when the person he could only assume to be his roommate walked in.

Paul practically jumped up off of the couch and walked to meet the roommate (he thought his name was John, maybe John Lemon? That sounded like a strange name, but he couldn’t remember).

“‘Ello,” he said, sticking a hand out for John to shake.

“Fucking Christ,” John said exasperatedly. Paul kept holding his hand out, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he was supposed to. “Put yer fuckin’ hand down, mate. We’re not at a fuckin’ Parliament meeting, are we?” Paul slowly retracted his hand.

“Yer British too?” It was the only thing Paul could think to say to the other boy, who was obviously older, though not by very much. Paul thought there was probably no more than a year or two between them.

“I am, yeah. And what of it?” John sounded defensive, angry.

“It’s, it’s nothing, sorry mate,” Paul said. He wasn’t angry, really, but he wasn’t so sure that he liked this John. “Jus’ trying to make some bloody conversation. We’re going to be living together for several months, I thought it might be easier if we were friends.”

“Of course, of course.” Now John sounded sort of apologetic, and it was confusing Paul. “Sorry to be a dick, mate, I’m jus’ a little stressed out. Moving back into the dorms isn’t easy, y’know?”

“Yeah. It’s my first time, but I think I get it.” John nodded knowingly, and a small, nervous smile spread across Paul’s lips.

“So yer a freshman,” John grinned, and he sat down on the couch Paul had been half asleep on just a few minutes earlier. There was a small armchair at the end of the couch, and that’s where Paul sat. He wasn’t sure what was going to happens at this point -- he wasn’t sure if John was going to be nice to him or be a total dick -- but he figured he should probably be sitting down at least.

“I am, yeah. I’m 19 actually.What’re you?”

“I’m a sophomore, I’m 20. I’ll be 21 in October. So yer not as far behind me as you’d think, looking at the two of us. You’re older than I thought you’d be, just looking at yer face. Are you sure yer actually 19? You look a little closer to, oh, 14.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean then? I know I’ve got a bit of a baby face, but at least my eyes aren’t all squinty. Can you even see out of those things?”

“Are you makin’ fun of my fuckin’ eyes?” John said incredulously.

“You took a jab at my baby face, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did. I didn’t expect you to lash out at me like like that!”

“Oh, you thought I was a fuckin’ coward who wouldn’t defend himself, is that what it is?” Paul spat back.

“It is, yeah! If you look 14, I'm going to assume you act 14!” Both John and Paul were standing now, and it looked like John was ready to start throwing punches. They stood there for a minute, eyes locked, tempers flaring, until John turned away.

“You’re not sleeping in the same room as me.” John was obviously seething.

“Well, what do you suppose we do then, mate? It’s not like there’s two bloody rooms in the fuckin’ dorm.” Paul was just as angry as John was.

“Fuck. Fuck you. I’m going for a walk. We’ll sort this mess out later.”

“Cunt,” Paul muttered under his breath as John walked towards the door.

“Prick!” John called back seconds before the door slammed shut behind him.

“Fucking Christ,” Paul sighed. He trudged towards his room to get his phone. He had to call Mikey, even if it was close to midnight back home. He knew his grandmother would be up late waiting for him to call, and maybe it would help to talk to Mikey. After that he could go find George and have dinner with him. Maybe. He wasn’t so sure he had the energy to listen to George talk about Patti for hours. Paul dialed his brother's number and paced around the room, waiting as it rang. He was just about to give up and call later when Mikey finally picked up the phone.

“Jesus Christ, it took you long enough to call us.”

“Sorry, Mikey,” Paul sighed.

“Don’t fucking call me Mikey.”

“I’ll call you whatever the hell I want. Mikey.”

“Okay. Fine. Paulie.”

“Fuck you,” Paul laughed, and he heard Mike laughing on the other end of the line. Almost instantly, Paul felt less stressed. He and his brother might not be super close, but it was just nice to hear a familiar voice after everything with John. “How are you? How’s Grandmum doing? Anything exciting happening back home?”

“It’s bloody Liverpool, Paul. Nothing exciting ever happens here. Grandmum’s fine, she’s about to fall asleep so you’d better talk to her now. Tell her to give me the phone when she’s done speaking.”

“Of course. Thanks, Mike.” There was a few seconds of muffled noises before his grandmum got the phone.

“Hello, Paulie,” she said, and Paul gulped. He was just now beginning to realize how hard it would be to be in college in a different country, thousands of miles away from everybody he knew except George.

“Hi, Grandmum. How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m just fine, Paul. I’m doing just fine. How is America treating you so far?”

“I’m glad I’m finally in Boulder, let’s just say that. It’s been stressful.” Not to mention his godawful roommate was stressing him out even more.

“And have you found Georgie anywhere yet?”

“I’m going to try and meet up with him for dinner I think.”

“Have you met your roommate yet? Is he nice?”

“Well,” Paul ran his fingers through his hair, “we don’t really get along, no.”

“You’ve only known him for a little bit. I’m sure you two can work it out, Paulie. You’re such a good boy.” His grandmum’s voice was brimming with pride. “Besides, you’ll find a pretty girlfriend and then he’ll be jealous of you.”

“Oh, yeah. Hopefully,” Paul forced an awkward laugh. He wasn’t gay -- bi, maybe but not gay -- but he didn’t want a girlfriend right now. There was too much going on for girls to enter the picture.

“It’s midnight here, so I’d better let you go. Find George for dinner and have fun, okay? Call me after your first class. I want to know exactly how it went.”

“I will. I guess if you’re ready to go, hand me back to Mikey please.”

“Okay Paulie. I love you. Tell your father and Angie hi for me, will you?”

“Of course. Love you too, Grandmum.” Again, there were a few muffled seconds of silence, followed by a thump which Paul assumed was Grandmum dropping the phone, and then Mike was back on the phone.

“How’s it really going then?” Mike said. "It can't be going as well as you've made Grandmum think it is."

“It’s bloody awful, Mike,” Paul sighed, falling back on his bed. “I can’t fuckin’ stand my roommate. I thought we were going to come to blows earlier.”

“I”m sorry mate,” Mike sounded apologetic. “But what I heard from Grandmum was right. You’ve only known him for a couple of hours.A row or two isn’t enough to judge someone off of.”

“Even you’re not on my side! Fuckin’ hell, Mikey."

“It’s midnight here, Paul. I don’t have the energy to try and deal with your roommate problems. I’ve got a huge maths exam tomorrow. I’m stressed.”

“Okay. Okay. Get some sleep. Good luck on your maths exam.”

“Thanks. Do you want to talk to Ruthie?”

“Do you really think she wants to talk to me?” Paul sounded skeptical.

“You two need to get the fuck over whatever happened between you. You’re fuckin’ step siblings. You live together.”

“Not anymore. Unless you forgot, I’m in the states at uni right now. Not at home fighting with Ruthie.”

“Okay. Fine." Mikey sounded exasperate. "Goodnight, Paul.”

“Goodnight, Mikey.” There was a moment of awkward silence before Paul pressed the “end call” button. That hadn’t gone how he’d meant it to go at all. He’d expected backup and support from his brother, not whatever the hell that was. Then he heard the room to their dorm open and he prepared himself for the worst. He picked himself off of the bed, straightening the covers and throwing off the extra pillows Angie had given him, before grabbing his phone and walking out into the main room of the dorm.

“Hullo,” John said, and Paul was caught off guard. He’d expected John to be just as angry as he’d been half an hour earlier, but no. He seemed completely fine.

“‘Ello,” Paul said nervously. “I’m going out to meet up with one of my friends for dinner. You've got the place to yerself for a little bit.”

“Sounds good.” There was a moment of awkward tension as Paul walked past John and towards the door before anything else was said. “Oh, Paul?”

“Yeah?” Paul grabbed the doorknob, but turned around to look at John.

“I feel like we should maybe talk. After this. Get everything cleared up. Set some boundaries and stuff.”

“That’d be good, yeah,” Paul said. He looked at John for a second, just looked him up and down, and then he opened the door and went off to find George for dinner. Maybe talking to the one friend he had with him would be good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul are trying to set up boundaries and be civil, but John's got issues with just about everything that Paul does.

George was eating pizza in his dorm room when Paul found him. Well, George and his three roommates were eating pizza in their dorm room.

“Three fuckin’ roommates? That’s gotta be tough,” Paul said. He and George had stolen a box of pizza and were walking around campus eating it. “And you’re all engineering geniuses?”

“Well, not all of us are geniuses. Three of us are engineering majors, and we have one applied science major. As for having three of them, it’s not so bad. We get along pretty well, actually. They’re all from Colorado, though. They’ve got their girlfriends here with them. Makes me miss Patti even more,” George smiled wistfully as he sat down on a bench, Paul following suit and sitting next to him.

“You’ll see Patti again in a few months.” Paul was trying to be reassuring. “Besides, you’ve been in love with each other since year eight at least. You can make it through a few months of uni without breaking up.”

“Oh, yeah, I know, but I just miss her.” There was a moment of content silence -- holy _shit_ , this pizza was good -- before George spoke again. “How’s your roommate? What’s his name?”

“John, and he’s bloody awful. We almost got in a full on fistfight.”

“Is he at least pretty?”

“You were just talking about how much you miss Patti! Why are you asking if my roommate is pretty? I mean, he is, sort of? I might have made fun of him for his squinty eyes.”

“Paul!”

“He made fun of my baby face! What was I supposed to do, hold my tongue?”

“What’d you call him?” George set his piece of pizza on top of the box. “Paul, I know you can never hold your damn tongue, but what did you call him?”

“I called him a cunt.”

“Paul!”

“What? He called me a prick first!”

“You’re impossible,” George sighed, taking a bite of his pizza. “Impossible!”

“I know. I know,” Paul laughed. “But there’s no way you get along with all your roommates so well. I don't buy it."

“I never said we got along perfectly or anything. But I think I’m actually going to be friends with my roommate.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Paul laughed, and George grinned smugly. “You don’t need to rub it in.”

“Ringo and I’re both engineering majors, I think that’s why it’s working so well. He also drums, which is nice, since I brought my guitar with me. What’s 

John majoring in?”

“Y’know, I’ve got no idea. All I know is he’s 20 and he hates me. And as soon as I get back from dinner with you, we’re supposed to set up boundaries and shit.”

“Oh, that’s not going to be a fun conversation, is it?” George winced in pain for his friend.

“No, it’s not. But maybe things’ll turn out better afterwards?”

“I think you should go back now and just get this over with,” George said, shutting the lid of the now-empty pizza box.

“I’ve only been gone 45 minutes. Surely I have another fifteen or so minutes left, don’t I?” Paul said desperately.

“Well, it took you fifteen minutes to find your way to Bracket Hall from Reed Hall, didn’t it?”

“Fuck. You’re right,” Paul sighed as he and George stood up and started to walk back towards Bracket Hall. “Fuck you, George.”

“Well, good luck, mate,” George said, patting Paul on the back roughly. “Also, I will be at your dorm very often. You’ve got a kitchen. And only one roommate. Bye!” And with that, George was gone. Paul couldn’t help but laugh softly to himself. George was easily the smartest person Paul had ever met, seeing as George had skipped a year of school and was also a fucking engineering major, but being around him was like being around a six or seven year old child.

It didn’t take Paul fifteen minutes to get back to Reed Hall, because this time he knew where he was going. In fact, it only took him seven or eight minutes. He spent the rest of his fifteen minutes nervously pacing around in front of his dorm room. He was dreading talking to John again. Finally, Paul took a deep breath and tried to open the door. The doorknob wouldn’t move. Frustrated, Paul tried to turn the doorknob again, and yet another time, but it wouldn’t move. Paul was just about to give up and go back to George’s dorm when John opened the door.

“Forget your key, did you?” John smiled, almost kindly. Paul turned a bright shade of red. He had forgotten he needed a key.

“Erm, I did, yeah,” he admitted, following John into their dorm.

“So, we should talk.” John said, and Phil nodded, slightly nervous.

“We do, yeah.” They sat down opposite each other at the tiny kitchen table, and there was a moment of awkward silence where neither of them was sure who was supposed to start talking first. Then, thank god, John decided to start.

“We’re going to have to share a room. I know it’s going to be awkward and everythin', but it’s got to happen. Just, keep your shit on your side of the room and I’ll keep my shit on my side of the room. I don't want to go for a piss at three in the mornin' and trip over yer clothes or somethin'.”

“Okay. I can do that. Whoever wakes up first should go change and everythin' in the bathroom. Just that way, if the other wakes up it’s not awkward or anything,” Paul suggested, and John nodded thoughtfully.

“Good idea. I also noticed the instruments on your side of the room? How often do you think you’ll be playing those?”

“Oh, god, I dunno,” Paul sighed. “Fairly often, but I can be quiet with them. There’ll be no two in the morning hardcore jam sessions unless you’re out of the way.” Paul tried to make a joke, and he was grateful when John smiled in response, even though it was tiny.

“As long as you don’t cause too many issues with them, we’ll be good.” John paused to take a sip of the beer he had on the table before starting again. “We should probably come up with a rule for when we bring people back here after parties or something.”

“Shit, yeah, that’ll be awkward with only the one room.” Paul couldn’t believe that he hadn’t thought about that.

“We should get one thing off of the table, though,”John said, and Paul braced himself for what was coming next. He was expecting an insult or a jab at him, not what John actually said. “I’m not just bringing home girls. If that’s an issue for you...” John left the threat hanging in the air.

“No, of course that’s not an issue for me,” Paul said instantly. “Boys are good too.” He surprised himself by saying it.

“Good. As for the bringing people home thing, how about if one of us doesn't go to a party, they sleep on the couch or somethin'? Just so we can make sure we avoid anythin’ awkward. I know we’ve got to be close and all, but I don’t really want to see your fuckin' dick.”

“Um,” Paul didn’t know how to respond to that, “yeah, okay. That’s a good plan, yeah.” There was a moment of silence as John took yet another sip of the beer he had. “We should do something about the bathroom, shouldn’t we?”

“Surely we don’t have to have rules for the bloody bathroom, do we?” John said in surprise.

“Like, do we shower one in the morning, one at night or?” Paul said. “Besides, I like my long showers.”

“Long showers? Fuckin’ queer.” John muttered, and Paul looked up in confusion.

“How is that even an insult? Especially when you just said you weren’t straight?” Paul was perplexed.

“I dunno, mate, I just don’t think rules for the shower are really necessary.”

“Okay. Fine. Then are we done setting up our little boundaries and everything?” Paul wasn’t really frustrated, but as soon as he said those words, he realized how angry he actually sounded.

“Fuckin’ sue me for trying to make things easier!” John said, and before Paul knew it, they were both on their feet again.

Paul didn’t even register what they fought about that time. There was something about short showers and girlfriends (and other people in the shower? Paul wasn’t sure) but it was awful. Fights always left him feeling tired and drained of every ounce of energy he had. This one hadn’t ended with John going for a walk, though. Instead, John had stormed into their bedroom and shut the door, leaving Paul stuck without any of the things he usually used to calm himself down. 

He paced around for a few minutes, texted George for a little bit, and eventually decided he wanted into the bedroom. He did, after all, share it with John. He knocked on the door before swinging it open, to find John half asleep under some blankets. He was going to play the guitar, that always calmed him down, but seeing John asleep, he decided he should sleep too. It was too early to go to bed, far too early, but Paul was tired. He was jet-lagged and worn out from two fights in one day, even if he did get to see George.

He hoped that when he woke up, it’d all be just a bad dream.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is (surprise!) more fighting, and Paul goes to a party.

It wasn’t just a bad dream. Paul opened his eyes the next morning to find that John was already in the shower. Paul’s shoulders instantly relaxed, releasing stress Paul hadn’t realized he had. He rolled over to grab his phone from the nightstand and check the time. 9:24. He had two hours to kill before he was supposed to meet up with Jim and Angie for lunch before they left to catch their flight back home. He crawled out of bed and dug through one of the boxes of clothing they hadn’t unpacked yesterday, and pulled on the first pair of jeans he saw and a sweatshirt. He didn’t realize the sweatshirt said “fuck off, Macca” until John came back into the room half an hour later.

“Hm, that’s a nice greeting, isn’t it then?” John said, and Paul looked up to find that the older boy was in nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist.

“Um, uh,” Paul tried to come up with a response, but the barely-clothed John was distracting him, “what’s hardly a greeting?”

“Your shirt,” John smirked, and Paul glanced down at his sweatshirt. “Oh, oh shit!” Paul hurriedly pulled the sweatshirt off, forgetting for the moment that he didn’t have anything on beneath it.

“Damn, Macca,” he heard John say as Paul dug around for, found, and then pulled on his CU sweatshirt. Paul didn’t have time to really comprehend that John had complimented him before hearing his nickname.

“Macca? How do you know that’s my nickname?” Paul said. He gazed at the mess of clothes he’d made disappointedly before looking up at John from where he sat on the floor. John was still in the bloody towel. “Also, d’you want to put on some actual clothes?”

“Your Instagram bio. It has Macca in it. It was also on the bloody shirt you were just wearing. I sort of assumed it’d be your nickname or somethin’.” John grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt and went to the bathroom to change.

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot about that,” Paul said, mostly to himself. He grabbed his phone, remembered to grab his keys, and then started walking out of the dorms. He grabbed the doorknob, paused, and then walked back towards the bathroom. “I’m going to meet George and then have lunch with my dad and stepmom. I’ll, “ Paul loudly said to the closed bathroom door, “I’ll be back at some point.” Paul stood there, waiting for a response of sorts from John. He eventually just gave up and started to walk away again.

“There’s a party tonight. Big welcome-back one at Pi Kappa Alpha,” John yelled, and Paul stopped walking. “You should go.”

“I will, yeah.”With that, Paul walked out of Reed Hall and started on the journey to Bracket Hall to go find George.

“He’s fuckin’ bipolar or something!” Paul yelled eight minutes later.

“Paul,” George tried to say something.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t say bipolar or whatever. But he’s so fuckin’ strange!” Paul was yelling and waving his arms around wildly. He felt sorry for George’s roommate -- Ringo? What the hell kind of name was Ringo? -- but he couldn’t control himself.He was bloody _pissed_ at John. “He acts like he wants to fuckin’ kill me one minute, and then five minutes later, he’s inviting me to a party. I don’t understand! I don’t fuckin’ understand him!”

“Paulie, calm down. I’m sure you’ll be able to figure things out. If not, there’s room for you here,” George offered. “Ringo and I need a bassist to practice with anyways.”

“It’d be nice, yeah,” Ringo piped up, and Paul sighed.

“That does sound fun,” he admitted, “but I feel like if I’m always out of the dorm, that’s effectively tellin’ him that he wins. And he’s not going to bloody win, for Christ’s sake.”

“Mate, I think you’ve terrified Ringo. Take a break from John for a little bit. Besides, don't you have to leave to meet Jim and Angie in half an hour?”

“Oh, shit,” Paul put his face in his hands. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

“C’mon then,” George said, holding his acoustic guitar out to Paul.

“The fuck is this, mate?”

“If we’re going to be a little threesome, we’ve got to start practicing at some point,” Ringo pointed out. Paul took the guitar from George’s hands, running his fingers over the smooth wood. _God,_ George’s family could afford nice guitars.

They clicked. The chemistry between the three of them was instant and obvious, and Paul couldn’t help but smile the entire time. He’d never had so much fun just playing with his friends (could he call Ringo his friend at this point? He wasn’t sure). Eventually, though, Paul had to go meet up with Jim and Angie, so he gave the guitar back to George, waved goodbye to Ringo, and then tried to go figure out the public transport system.

It was bittersweet to see Angie and Jim go. One part of Paul was glad that they were gone, glad that he really felt like he was officially at college. The other, larger, part of Paul didn’t want them to go. He didn’t want to admit that he was just a scared teenager who didn’t want to be left alone for the first time, but that’s exactly what he was. He hugged them, told them to have a safe flight, and then tried not to cry as the cab pulled away.

Paul got back to the dorm to find that John had a more than half-empty bottle of vodka sitting on the kitchen table.

“Can I, can I ask what the fuck you’re doing?”

“Oi, sod off, mate,” John said, pouring himself a shot.

“You haven’t had all that, have you?” Paul asked, pointing to the bottle of alcohol.

“Of course not. I’m pouring myself my first damn shot right now,” John said as though what he was doing was obvious.

“Right. Right. So, why are you doing this before the party?”

“Do they not do this in whatever part of England you’re from?” John said, sounding almost baffled.

“Liverpool. I’m from Liverpool. And, no, they don’t,” Paul said, just as confused as John. “You go to the party to get smashed, you don’t get smashed to go to the party.”

“We’re not getting smashed,” John rolled his eyes. “We’re just showing up a little tipsy. That’s how parties work, dumbass.” John braced himself, threw the vodka down his throat, and then grimaced. “ _Fuck,_ I’d forgotten how much I hate vodka.” Paul just sort of stared at John for a moment before walking to John.

“All right. Let’s fucking do this.” Paul stuck out his hand and grimaced as John poured a shot and handed it to him.

“I’m not so sure I should be givin’ you alcohol. You look too young.”

“If you’re going to make another jab at my bloody baby face,” Paul warned, and John threw his hands up in a mock surrender and nodded towards the shot glass.

“Hurry up and take the shot, mate. RA’s coming around in five minutes. I’ve got to get this hidden.” Paul gazed at the alcohol, squeezed his eyes shut, and took the shot.

“Having fun?” Paul could hear the laughter in John’s voice.

“Fuck. No. What time is the party anyways?” Paul said, opening his eyes.

“They start serving pizza at 5:30. But,” John shrugged, taking the shot glass back from Paul, “ there won’t be any booze or weed until 7:30 or 8.”

“Then we are we taking shots at 3:30? That’s a bit early, isn’t it?” Paul questioned as John stashed the bottle of vodka in a cupboard. “Especially since the RA is coming around in a little bit?”

“Tell me, Macca,” John began.

“Don’t call me Macca,” Paul interrupted.

“Macca, how many parties have you been to?”

“A fair amount, mate, why? I’ve already told you they must do partying different in Liverpool than wherever the hell you’re from.”

“Fuckin’ Christ, you’re from Liverpool?”

“I am, yeah. Is that bad or something? Have you got something against people from Liverpool?” Paul said, defensively. He didn’t love Liverpool all that much, but he was willing to defend it to the death.

“So am I, mate! I’m just surprised we managed to be in the same city for almost two decades and never meet each other.”

“Liverpool’s a big place,” Paul shrugged. “But anyways, of course I’ve been to parties. I didn’t live under a bloody rock.”

“You have to have some alcohol beforehand. It’s not a party if you don’t show up a little tipsy.”

“So you’ve said. And, trust me, the alcohol isn’t the issue. It’s the timing that’s the issue.”

“Well, bloody ‘ell, mate, I’m sorry I don’t have an answer for everything I do!” John said angrily.

“I just want a little bit of an explanation! It doesn’t have to be huge or anything!”

“Well, if you find an explanation, you can take it and shove it up your fucking ass!”

“You absolute fucking _cunt_ ,” Paul spat. “I’ll see you at the party. Oh, and, by the way, I claim the bedroom for myself tonight.” He started walking towards the door, but whirled around as soon as John said something.

“Good fucking luck getting a girl to come home with you,” John said sarcastically.

“Oi, mate, you’ll be fuckin’ surprised then, won’t you?”

“I sure as hell will. Nobody’s going to want to kiss you with that baby face!”

“Oh, right, and I’m sure you have a fantastic time trying to see people out of those narrow eyes!”

“Fuck off about my narrow eyes! At least I actually look like I belong in college, not year four!” They were both on their feet and yelling again, and Paul decided that with the RA coming soon he should leave. The lsat thing he wanted was to get in trouble.

As he stormed out of the room, he almost ran into their RA.

“Be careful with John, mate,” he warned. “The man’s bonkers.”

 

Four hours later, Paul nervously walked up to the Pi Kappa Alpha house, to find music was already blasting. He took a deep breath, shelled out the five bucks it cost to get in, and stepped into the world of college parties.

It was loud, people were already drunk, and he saw at least three topless girls about two minutes in. God, if Angie knew he was here, she’d kick his ass. But Angie wasn’t here. He saw John a few times, they made eye contact once or twice, but they never spoke, which was just fine with Paul.

He talked to a bunch of people, drank way too much, and smoked something he was assuming was weed but he was honestly too drunk to tell. And then, just when he was considering giving up on proving John wrong and going back to the dorm, he met Rosemary.

“Where are you from?” she shouted over the music, stepping closer to Paul.

“Liverpool. It’s in England,” he shouted back, and saw her face light up.

“Mmmm. A Brit,” she smirked. “I’m always a slut for a man with an accent.”

"What's your name?"

"Rosemary. What's yours?"

"Like the Edison Lighthouse song," Paul said, more to himself than anything.

"Huh?" Rosemary yelled back.

"Nothing. I'm Paul!"

They danced, and they kissed, and the look of shock on John’s face when he walked into their bedroom to see Paul in bed with a girl was worth all of the fighting they’d gone through. Paul couldn’t help but fall asleep with a smug smile on his face as Rosemary nestled closer to him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul is hungover. And he thinks he loves Rosemary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm really sorry for the short chapter/long wait between publishing chapters. This one is just laying the groundwork for later chapters and I really had to sit down and think of exactly the direction I want this to go in. Anyways, enjoy!

“So who was the chick?” John yelled at Paul the next morning. It was so loud, and Paul was so hungover and surprised that he fell off of his bed.

“What the fuck?” he said drowsily, confused by John’s loud laughter.

“Who was the chick? She was hot.”

“Huh?” Paul said, trying to figure out what John was talking about. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, memories of the night before started to come back to him. “Rosemary? Did she leave already?”

“Well, I don’t exactly see her here,” John said.

“Fuck, that’s a bit rude of me, isn’t it?” Paul didn’t even have the energy to sit up, he just lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling.

“A little hungover, are you?” John smirked.

“And you’re not? How the hell?”

“I didn’t drink nearly as much as you did, mate,” John said. “You, on the other hand...” John trailed off.

“Let me guess,” Paul groaned, “it’s a bloody miracle I even remember Rosemary, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Oh, by the way, you weren’t actually rude to her. Her roommate might be pregnant,” John shrugged. “She ran off at like 8 in the morning all panicked. It’s not your fault.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Paul sighed, sitting up. As he sat up, the covers wrapped around his chest fell down around him, and he felt John’s eyes on him. “Well. I appear to be completely naked at this point.” Paul waited for John to get up and leave the room, but John stayed where he was, sitting on the floor, leaned against his bed.

“Oh, are you expectin’ me to leave?” John asked a few moments later, after realizing that Paul was expecting a response.

“Em, I was, yeah,” Paul said. “I do recall you specifically sayin’ that you don’t want to see my dick. And if you stay in here, I’m sorry, but you’re going to see my fuckin’ dick.”

“Well, mate, I don’t really feel like getting up.”

“Fuck you,” Paul groaned again and collapsed back into bed. “What time is it anyways?”

“9:30.”

“Shit. I don’t suppose you’ve got any Aspirin or anythin’, do ya?” Paul’s head was hurting too much for him to be as pissed at John as he’d been last night.

“Even if I did, mate, I wouldn’t get it for you. Rosemary left a glass of water by your bed for you,” John sounded as if he was paying much more attention to whatever was in his hands. “Apparently your drunken ass is either really good at making girls pity you, or maybe you fuck well. Who knows.”

“Christ, John,” Paul sighed. “I just want to sleep for the next ten years. Sod off. Let me be.” The younger boy pulled the covers up and tried to ignore the pounding of his head so he could go the fuck back to sleep.

When woke up again, feeling much less hungover but still not great, John was gone. Paul groaned, rolled over to check his phone, and found three missed calls from Mikey, and a request to follow his Instagram. Rosemary. He accepted her request, followed her back, and dialed Mikey back. It was probably Grandmum trying to get ahold of him before his parents got back home.

“Paul, what’s up?” Mikey sounded as though he was in a hurry.

“You called me first, Mike. I’m jus’ calling because you called me.”

“Oh. Right. Grandmum wants to talk to you. She thinks you had your first class today, wouldn’t listen to me tellin’ her that those don’t start ‘til a few more days.”

“Shit. Okay. Are you at home, or?”

“You sound awful, Paulie. Get a little drunk last night, did ye?” Mikey laughed. “Should I tell Grandmum not to talk to you because you’re bloody hungover?”

“Buzz off,” Paul huffed. “I could tell Grandmum and Angie and Dad a thing or two about your Saturday night ‘study groups.’”

“Yeah, yeah, I wouldn’t do that to you,” Mike said, and Paul could practically hear his brother rolling his eyes through the phone.

“Anyways, can I talk to Grandmum?”

“As soon as I get home.”

“Are you not at home?”

“On my way home from football practice.”

“It’s gone a little late, hasn’t it?”

“Coach was in a bad mood. I’ll just call you back when I get home, if Grandmum’s awake. If she’s not, I’ll just call you later.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Paul sighed, dragging himself out of bed. “Call me back at some point then.”

“Of course. Cheers mate.”

“Cheers.” Paul said and hung up. He put his head in his hands -- he still had a bloody awful headache, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been -- before working up the courage to get out of bed. Just as Paul finished pulling on shorts and was pausing to drink some of the water Rosemary had left him, John came back into the room. Paul felt his roommate’s eyes looking him up and down, and hurriedly searched for a shirt to throw on. John wasn’t making him uncomfortable, really, but Paul did find it odd that John, who seemed to hate him so much, was so obviously checking him out.

“Are you plannin’ on doing anything’ today, or are you jus’ gonna wallow in self-pity?” John asked, his tone of voice mocking.

“Shower. Maybe I’ll see George and Ringo today.” Paul pulled on a t-shirt and some sweatpants before checking his phone. A notification popped up on his screen. Rosemary wanted to hang out with him. “I’ll probably see Rosemary today, too.” Paul tapped out a response, and looked up to see John glaring at him.

“She’s trouble, mate,” John warned. “Damn Pi Beta Phi girls are all druggies.”

“Sorry, John, but since when have you had the authority to tell me who I can and can’t see?”

“I know we don’t get along, but she’s not worth it. I don’t care how good of a fuck she is, she’s not worth it.”

“Oh, right, ‘cause you know so much about the girls here,” Paul said sarcastically. “Besides, she’snot just a good fuck. I think we might actually have somethin’. And it’s none of your business who I do and don't fuck.”

“For Christ’s sake, Paul! You think you have something? Are you shittin’ me?” John was pissed, and Paul couldn’t understand why John would be so pissed.”You were drunk and probably higher than a kite when you met her. You can’t have a fuckin’ connection with someone if you were drunk and high when you met them! That’s not how this shit works, mate!”

“I don’t care what you think,” Paul spat. “I can do what I like.” His head was pounding and it hurt like fucking hell to yell, but he was livid because John thought he could tell Paul what to do.

“I’m tryin’ t’help you out!”

“Fuck,” Paul angrily pulled on one shoe, “you!” Paul pulled on the other shoe, and grimaced yet again because of his headache.

“You wish you could, you son of a bitch!” John said fiercely.

“I’ll be too busy with Rosemary to even _think_ about you!” Paul yelled and stormed out of the dorms. He was going to go find Rosemary right now just because John said he shouldn’t. That’d convince John to stay the hell out of his life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul spends some quality time away from John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm so sorry it's been so long since I've added a new chapter. Finals are coming up, and I've been really stressed trying to get assignments done/study for finals. On the plus side: less than seven days left until the end of the school year!  
> (Also: huge shoutout to my friend Maggie for proofreading everything and vetoing all of my awful ideas. This wouldn't exist without her!)

They didn’t _just_ fuck. They did, of course, but beforehand, Rosemary took Paul to a fancy sushi place on Spruce street. They walked around the Pearl Street Mall, and even though Paul felt like absolute death, he had fun. He liked just being with Rosemary. He liked the way she squealed excitedly every time she saw a dog (or a squirrel, or even the occasional cat). He liked when they stopped at store windows and the reflection that gazed back at Paul was him, his arm around a brunette sorority girl, and they looked happy. He liked how they looked happy. He like that she was smiling.

As they walked, Paul couldn’t help but wonder why the hell this was happening. They barely knew each other, yet Rosemary was acting as though they’d been a couple for months. Really, though, Paul wasn’t about to complain about suddenly having a hot girl obsessed with him. There were far worse things that could’ve happened.

But, as they fell into bed later, body on body, skin on skin, Paul thought of John. Paul couldn’t fucking _stop_ thinking about John.

“John,” he gasped softly, quietly, after Rosemary pulled away from his lips for a second.

“Wha?” Rosemary was breathing heavily.

“Nothing. Nothing,” Paul shook his head and pulled Rosemary back to him.

“What’s your first class?” Rosemary said a while later, as they sat on her bed, sipping the best champagne Paul had ever tasted. He probably shouldn’t be drinking, he still felt the slightest twinge of headache, but he didn’t really care.

“That’s not for a few days still. Why’re you asking?”

“Just trying to get to know the mysterious Paul McCartney better,” Rosemary fake pouted, and Paul leaned over and pecked her cheek. He couldn’t help but think that he liked it better when John called him Macca.

“It’s expository writing. At 9:30, I think.”

“Expository writing? Are you an arty boy?” Rosemary grinned.

“I’m majorin’ in journalism, Rosie,” Paul smiled. “I’ve got to be able to write if I want to be a journalist.”

“Oooh, a journalist,” Rosemary said teasingly. “You _are_ an artsy boy!”

“Would it impress yeh even more if I told yeh I play the guitar and the bass?” Paul grinned widely. “I’m sorry, though, I don’t drink expensive coffee and dress in only black.”

“Mmm, you play the guitar?” Rosemary’s voice was filled with fake lust as she put her hand on Paul’s thigh. She was hamming it up, and Paul could barely contain his laughter. They held eye contact, Phil’s laughing eyes looking into Rosemary’s determined ones, until she lost it.

“Oh, god,” she laughed, “my angsty teenaged self would’ve fucked you right then and there.”

“Oh, and yer slightly less angsty, 20-year-old self wouldn’t’ve?” Paul said sarcastically.

“Well, I guess we’ll-” Rosie was cut off as Paul’s phone started to ring.

“Shit,” he sighed, checking to see who was calling. “It’s my grandmum.” He motioned for Rosemary to be silent as he answered.

“Hello, Grandmum.”

“For fuck’s sake, d’yeh just assume that every time I call yeh it’s fer Grandmum?” Mike complained loudly.

“Well, sort of, yeah! When was the last time yeh called me just because yeh wanted to talk?” Paul sounded so absolutely offended that Rosemary couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, there’s a girl in yer dorm, isn’t there?” Mike said excitedly.

“Well, it’s more like I’m in the girl’s dorm. Anyways, why’d yeh call?”

“Just checkin’ in. It’s weird to not have yeh in the house.”

“Have Angie and Dad made it back home yet?”

“We’re waitin’ for them at the airport right now.”

“That’s good. Em, if yeh can, could yeh call me back when they show up?”

“Why?” Paul could hear the smirk in his younger brother’s voice. “Are yeh in the middle of somethin’?”

“I was bloody about to be,” Paul grumbled. “Call me back, mate.” And he hung up.

“Who was that?” Rosie smiled, setting her glass of champagne down.

“My brother. Being an ass, as usual.” They sat in a moment of comfortable silence before Paul spoke up again. “I should probably be going. It’s almost 7:30.”

“Do you have somewhere to be or something?” Rosemary asked.

“I was going to try and meet up with some of my other friends today, yeah.”

“Oh, all right. Call me when you figure out what your classes are, though. I want to see if we’ve got any free time that matches up.”

“Yeah. Of course,” Paul pressed a kiss to her forehead before getting up. “I’ll call yeh later, love,” he smiled before walking out of the dorm.

“I’ve got a letter from Pattie!” George screamed as Paul walked into his dorm.

“Christ, try and keep it down, please?” Ringo winced.

“Besides, don’t yeh call each other just about every other minute?” Paul teased, sitting down on the floor next to the other two boys. “Why is a letter so much more excitin’?”

“Sod off, mate,” George rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry you’re such a lonely asshole who can’t let others experience joy without tryin’ to bring them down.”

“Wow, there’s quite a bit of salt in little Georgie today, isn’t there?” Paul asked Ringo, and the other boy nodded. “Hey, I don’t mean to be a total dick, but what kind of name is Ringo?”

“My real name’s Richard. It’s sort of a family name, my grandpa was named Richard, but he went by Ringo,” Ringo shrugged. “I know it’s a little weird, but I’ve spent 20 years of my life being called Ringo. Don’t see a need to change now.”

“Fair enough. Are yeh sure yeh wouldn’t like bein’ called Dicky?” Paul grinned, and laughed when Ringo threw a punch at his shoulder.

“Doesn’t,” George held back laughter, “doesn’t Mo call you Dicky?”

“Who’s Mo?” Paul asked, confused.

“Maureen. My girlfriend,” Ringo sighed. “And yes, she does call me Dicky.”

“Oh, so d’you two scream about letters from yer girlfriends together, or does Dicky here have his head screwed on straight?” Paul teased again.

“Mo lives in town, actually. I can just see her whenever I feel like,” Ringo said, and George rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, he’ll never let me bloody forget it, either.”

“What about you, Paul? Is there someone in the picture for you?” Ringo asked, laying down on the floor of the dorm room.

“Sort of, yeah,” Paul admitted, and George practically jumped straight up.

“And yeh didn’t feel like telling me this earlier?” the younger boy said loudly.

“It’s a very recent thing, mate,” Paul said reassuringly. “Her name’s Rosemary.”

“Like the Edison Lighthouse song!” Ringo said excitedly, and Paul grinned.

“Finally! Somebody else who gets the damn reference!”

“The reference isn’t important, Paulie, the girl is!” George whined.

“Okay, okay. I met her at the Pi Kappa Alpha party. We hooked up and then we met up and got sushi for lunch today. That’s really it,” Paul said. “Oh, and she’s a sorority girl.”

“I never thought I’d see the day when your queer ass-”

“I’m not gay!” Paul interjected.

“I said queer, dumbass, I know you’re not gay. But I never thought I’d see the day you got with a girl.”

“Sod off,” Paul huffed. “I had plenty of birds in Liverpool!”

“He hasn’t even been here a week and he’s gotten a sorority girl,” Ringo pointed out. “That’s pretty damn impressive.”

“It is, yeah!” Paul defended himself. “And yeh’ve only got Pattie. Not that she’s bad-lookin’, or anythin’,” Paul said hastily when George got offended.

“Are you sayin’ you think my girl’s good-lookin’?” George said indignantly. “You know she’s _my_ girl, right?”

“Well, she’s no Rosemary,” Paul said smugly.

“Anyways,” Ringo said.

“Anyways,” both Paul and George responded at the same time. They were silent for a little bit after that, George was lightly strumming his guitar but nobody was talking.

“I’m goin’ to go back to my dorm,” Paul said after a few minutes of George’s quiet playing.

“So soon, mate?” Ringo asked as George set the guitar down. “It’s only 8:30, about.”

“Yeah, I’m bloody tired,” Paul sighed, standing up off of the floor. “It’s a miracle I’ve kept going this long. Cheers.”

“All right. See yeh, mate,” George said, and he and Ringo waved goodbye as Paul walked out.

As he walked up the stairs to his dorm, his phone rang again. He fished it out of his pocket, saw that it was Mike, and remembered his parents were supposed to be getting off of the plane right about now.

“Hullo?” he answered, expecting Mike to be on the other end.

“Paulie!” his father said excitedly.

“Oh, hey, Dad,” Paul grinned widely. He hadn’t expected to be so excited to hear his father’s voice.

“How’s it goin’, Paulie?”

“It’s good, Dad. I’m havin’ fun.” That was one way to put it. Paul wasn’t going to tell them about Rosemary. Yet.

“That’s good. I’m glad.” Jim sounded so proud of his son that Paul couldn’t help but smile even more than he already was. “Well,” Jim’s voice sounded gruff, emotional, “I’d better pass yeh on to Angie. She’s about to fall asleep on me.”

“Bye, Dad. Love you.”

“Love you too, son.”

The rest of the phone call flew by -- most of it went in one ear and out the other -- and Paul was glad to get off of the phone. He just wanted to go to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul goes to his first day of classes. Chaos (eventually) ensues.

“Oi, keep yer bloody alarm down, would yeh?” Paul grumbled. It was four days later and John’s alarm was much, much too loud.

“Sorry,” the older man shrugged. “I’ve got an 8:30 class.”

“So yeh have to be up at,” Paul glanced at his alarm clock, “7:30? Really?”

“I’ve got to shower and get breakfast, yeah.”

“What the hell are yeh majorin’ in that yeh have to take an 8:30 class for?” Paul sat up in bed. “I bed you’re an artsy type. It’s probably art history, isn’t it?”

“Business analytics. Minor in art history.”

“I guessed it! Oooh, yeh _are_ an artsy boy.”

“Shove off,” John rolled his eyes. “I’m goin’ to shower. I’m sure I’ll see yeh sooner than I really care to.” With that, John left the bedroom and went into their bathroom.

“Happy first day of classes to you too,” Paul sighed, before rolling over and going back to sleep.

It felt as though Paul had been asleep for just a few seconds when his alarm went off at 9. He rolled out of bed, pulled on sweatpants and a shirt, shoved his laptop and a notebook into his backpack, and left the dorm. At the last second, he remembered his keys, and then he was off to search for his expository writing class. He had lunch with Rosemary after his 11:00 class, and then he had college algebra at 2:30. He walked in, looked around for a seat, took the only empty seat, and then realized he was sitting right next to John.

“Bloody ‘ell, mate,” John sighed. “Why’d yeh have to take this class?”

“The real question is why are yeh takin’ it as a sophomore?”

“I don’t like math.”  
“Oh, yeh don’t like math, that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

“It’s going to have to be good enough for you.”

“Yer going to have to help me out here,” Paul pulled his laptop out and flipped it open, “I missed the part of the conversation where we agreed that yeh got to decide what is and isn’t good enough for me.”

“Fuck off. Look, he’s starting to speak, okay? We should probably pay some attention in this bloody class.”

“Yeh’ll need to pay attention more than I will.”

“Oh, and if you’re so high and mighty, why are yeh in this class with me, then?”

“I’ve just got to get my math credits out of the way, mate. That’s the only bloody reason I’m here.”

“Could you two please shut up?” Paul looked away from John, and towards the person sitting next to John. “I’m trying to pay attention here.”

“All right, all right,” John grumbled. “Don’t get yer panties in a twist.”

“Well, how was your first day of classes, love?” It was three hours later and Paul was on the phone with his grandmum.

“It was okay. I’m never going to be able to sleep ever again, I’ve got so much studying to do.” That wasn’t exactly true, but he knew that’s what Grandmum wanted to hear.

“Well, Paulie, that’s uni, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is, yeah.” Just then, Paul heard the door to his dorm slam open.

“Shit!” John said loudly, and Paul heard Grandmum gasp.

“I’d better call you back,” Paul said hastily, and hung up, as John said,

“I think my roommate’s here.” Paul quickly jumped up and went to go see what was happening. John was standing in the entrance of the dorm, arms and lips entangled with another boy. Paul cleared his throat, and both John and the other boy turned to look at him.

“If yeh can have Rosemary, then I can have, em,” John began.

“Davy. My name’s Davy,” the boy on John’s arm spoke up.

“If yeh can have Rosemary, then I can have Davy.”

“Christ, John, it’s not even 6:30,” Paul sighed.

“Get out! Come back later. Goodbye!” John said, reaching his hand out as though to shove Paul.

“We’re talking about this when I get back,” Paul warned.

“We’re talking about this when I get back,” John mocked.

“Fuck you,” Paul sighed exasperatedly.

“You would, but I’ve got Danny.”

“Davy!”

“I’m sorry, Davy, let me make it up to you,” John trailed off as he and Davy went off to the bedroom.

“Well, fuck,” Paul said to himself as he walked out of the dorm. There went his plans to stay home and try and get his shit together for the next day. He was about to find George and Ringo before remembering that they had an engineering group meeting or something, and then he was going to call Rosie but she had something to do with her sorority sisters. He was all alone for a while. Paul decided he was going out.

Since Paul was in Boulder and Boulder was a college town, it wasn’t hard to find a party to go to, even this early in the evening. He just walked around until he heard thumping music. He just walked in, where he got some strange looks from people, but nobody questioned him. As he drank (the Pi Kappa Alpha party had much better beer, but hell, Paul could still get drunk off of this), he kept thinking that maybe he shouldn’t be drinking. Especially when he had classes the next day. But before he could stop, a guy sat on the couch next to him and held out a cigarette.

“D’you smoke?” the man asked. “You look like you need a smoke.”

“I do, yeah,” Paul responded, taking the cigarette. “Thanks.”

“What’s your name?” the man asked as he lit Paul’s cigarette.

“Paul.”

“That’s a nice name,” the man grinned, lighting up his own cigarette. “I’m Jimmy. Have you been in the states long?”

“A little over a week, yeah.” Paul took a long drag from the cigarette, and instantly he felt more relaxed. “God, it’s been _ages_ since I’ve had a smoke.”

“Why’s that?”

“My bloody parents. They went through every inch of my luggage before we left for the airport.”

“How’ve you made it a little over a week without a smoke then?” Jimmy sounded almost impressed

“I’ve bummed a few here and there. Haven’t gotten off of my ass to go buy any though.”

They were there for a couple of hours, drinking and dancing and sometimes making out in the bathroom, before Jimmy asked if they could leave. Paul spent the night with Jimmy, who gave Paul three packs of cigarettes.

“Careful, Paul,” Jimmy warned. “Even if you don’t get caught with these on campus, you’ll probably get lung cancer or something.”

“I really should quit, shouldn’t I?” Paul laughed as he lit another cigarette.

He wasn’t drunk. Paul was tipsy, bordering on drunk, but he wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t high, either, which mean he actually remember most of the night with Jimmy.

It wasn’t until the next morning that he remembered about Rosemary.

A couple hours later, George was in Paul’s kitchen, baking cookies (Paul couldn’t even imagine why, but Geo had promised him cookies, so Paul couldn’t really complain).

“Do I tell her? Or do I just keep it a secret?” Paul said loudly has he paced around the dorm. “Do I have to tell her anythin’, Geo?”

“Mate, are you even a thing? Or are you and Rosemary just casual, like?”

“I’d say just causal but then she took me out for sushi. Would yeh take a casual fuck out for sushi?”

“No,” George admitted, measuring cookie dough onto a baking tray. “I wouldn’t. But you aren’t,” George trailed off trying to think of the right words, “you aren’t official. I don’t think you need to tell her then.”

“Don’t need to tell who what?” John said as he walked into the dorm.

“Oh, goodie,” Paul said sourly. “Yer back.”

“More like, ‘oh goodie, _yer_ back,’” John said as he sat down on one of the little kitchen chairs. “Who’s the lad in the kitchen, then? Haven’t seen him before.”

“John, the ‘lad in the kitchen’ is my friend, George. Geo, this is my insufferable roommate, John.”

“Glad to know you think highly of me, then,” John rolled his eyes. “Where did yeh end up last night, Macca?”

“He calls you Macca?” George whispered loudly, partly so that John would hear him, partly because he wasn’t good at being quiet.

“Won’t fuckin’ stop.” Paul glared at John. “I went to a party. Spent the night somewhere else.”

“Sorry, mate, but yeh could’ve come back here. Davy and I didn’t take _that_ long.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I found a place to stay,” Paul shrugged.

“Oh, are yeh done with that one bird yeh were so desperate to see a few days ago?”

“Em, no, not exactly,” Paul admitted.

“Ah, so that’s the conversation I’ve walked into, isn’t it?”

“D’yeh have any words of wisdom for me, or d’yeh want to please leave Geo and I alone?” Paul asked, stealing a little bit of cookie dough and popping it into his mouth.

“Y’know, you two fight like an old married couple,” George observed.

“Yer not helping’ the situation any, kitchen lad,” John said dismissively.

“Like an old married couple?” Paul exclaimed at the same time as John spoke. “A bloody old married couple?”

“Sorry, Paulie,” George shrugged, turning back to his cookies.

“Y’know, yeh don’t have to get hung up on one girl, right?” John said casually. “Yer in yer first year of college.”

“Thank yeh, Mr. Life Advice,” Paul said sarcastically. “I really appreciate yeh tryin’ t’help.”

“Lay off on the salt, Macca,” John said defensively.

“Stop tryin’ to tell me what do do with my life, mate!”

“Fuckin’ Christ, I get to witness a bloody fight, don’t I?” George sighed.

“Damn right, kitchen lad.”

“He has a bloody name, John!”

“Why’re yeh so defensive over his damn name? Is he yer next thing?” John mocked. “Are yeh going to feel guilty about sleepin’ with him next time yeh see yer Thyme or Basil or whatever her name is?”

“Rosemary!” Both Paul’s and John’s voices were rising steadily, and George was starting to look concerned. “Her name is Rosemary! And Geo is my friend. _Not_ my next fuck!”

“She’s a Pi Beta Phi girl, Paul, she’s no good for yeh!”

“Why is it suddenly yer business what is and isn’t good for me? Why’d I take advice from yeh?”

“Lads, lads,” George began, trying to break the two of them up, but John wasn’t having it.

“I know we can’t bloody stand each other, but I don’t want to see yeh get hurt by her! I’ve spent _plenty_ of time with Pi Beta Phi girls, and none of ‘em are worth it!” John still sounded angry, but there was something else to his voice this time. He was hurt.

“It’s my decision to make, John,” Paul said firmly. He wasn’t yelling anymore, but he was still angry. “No matter how much yeh think yer helpin’ me, mate, it’s my decision to make.”

“Fuck you,” John said, and punched him right in the jaw.

“Jesus, John!” George yelled, dropping the cookie dough and rushed to Paul, who had been completely knocked off guard and almost fallen down. Paul couldn’t even say anything, he was too busy trying to process the fact that John had just punched him in the face.

“Shit, shit, shit,” John muttered as stepped away from Paul. “Shit.”

“John, come back,” George said, momentarily taking his eyes off of Paul to see John running out of the dorm.

“Oh, god, he fuckin’ punched me,” Paul groaned. “He actually fuckin’ punched me.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parties are where important stuff happens, apparently.

They didn’t talk for weeks. It was awkward and awful, but Paul didn't really feel like trying to find a new roommate. He and John just sort of agreed that they were only living together. They didn’t have to be friends. Hell, they didn’t even have to interact. John just had to not punch Paul again. Besides, Paul was too busy settling into his classes, and college in general, to worry about John very much.

Paul spent most nights with Rosemary. It was just much too awkward to try and fall asleep in the same room that John was in. Paul spent most of his free time with Ringo and George. He was grateful that Geo and Ringo’s other roommates, Stu and Pete, let him be over so much. Their dorm was the same size as his and John’s, but there were twice as many people there. 

“C’mon, Macca, it’ll be fun,” Pete whined. “Even Geo and Ringo are going. You know Ringo _never_ goes to parties.”

“I dunno,” Paul said hesitantly. “After the whole Jimmy thing, I’m not entirely sure I really trust myself to be at a party.”

“Are you and Rosemary official, then? When’d that happen?” George asked, slipping into a sweatshirt.

“She posted a picture of us kissin’ on her Instagram,” Paul shrugged. “I’m pretty sure that means it’s official, yeah.”

“Damn,” Stu laughed. “That’s impressive. Paulie’s got himself a pretty little sorority girl.”

“She is gorgeous,” George admitted.

“Geo, you’ve got Pattie. Stop callin’ Rosie gorgeous,” Paul laughed.

“Am I not allowed to appreciate her fine figure?” George was pretending to be offended, but Paul could see a sparkle in his eye.

“Paulie’ll be too busy doin’ that tonight, Geo,” Pete said, and everybody laughed.

“Oh, sod off, mate,” Paul grinned. “I guess I’ll go tonight.”

A couple of hours later, Paul wasn’t so sure he should’ve gone.

“John’s here,” Paul yelled over the pounding music.

“You’ll be fine, Macca,” Pete yelled back. “He’s not goin’ to punch yeh here.”

“No shit,” Paul muttered under his breath. “I’m goin’ outside to have a smoke. I’ll see yeh in a minute.” Paul pushed his way through the crowd to get outside. He fished through his pockets for a pack of cigarettes, but couldn’t find a lighter. He checked his pockets again, and again, and he was just about to give up and go back inside when someone tapped him on the shoulders.

“Here, mate.” In the man’s outstretched hand was a lighter, which Paul picked up gratefully.

“Thank yeh,” Paul said as he lit the cigarette. He slipped the lighter into his pocket without even thinking about what he was doing, it was just habit at this point, and then looked to see exactly who had offered it to him.

“Don’t be mad, or run away, or somethin’.” It was John. He was holding two beers, and he looked like he wanted to talk. “Beer?” Paul hesitated. He wanted to take the beer, he wanted to forgive John, but John _had_ punched him. That wasn’t easily forgiven.

“Thanks.” He took it. He took the beer. John looked incredibly relieved that Paul wasn’t pushing him away. Paul took a long drag from the cigarette before downing some of the beer.

“Em, how’ve yeh been, mate?” John asked awkwardly.

“Pretty well,” Paul shrugged. “How about yeh?”

“I’ve been all right. Been a while since we talked, yeah?”

“I mean, yeh did sort of punch me,” Paul said, taking another sip of beer.

“I did,” John said sheepishly, “I did sort of punch you. That did happen, yeah. But I was thinkin’,” John paused to press his cigarette to his lips.

“Yeh were thinkin’?” Paul prodded.

“I was thinkin’ maybe we could start over, like.” John sounded hopeful, but Paul couldn’t help but look at his roommate skeptically.

“I dunno about startin’ over, mate. It’s a touch bit late fer just startin’ over.”

“Well, not necessarily startin’ over,” John said hastily. “Just, sort of, puttin’ this behind us. Maybe talkin’ to each other, not ignorin’ each other.”

“It’d make life easier,” Paul admitted. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s try that.”

“Cheers, mate,” John grinned.

“Cheers.” They stood in awkward silence, sipping their beers for a few moments.

“Paulie!” Paul almost dropped his cigarette as somebody grabbed his shoulder. “Paulie! I didn’t know you were coming tonight!” Rosemary was giggling uncontrollably.

“Hello, love,” Paul grinned after he’d figured out who was behind him, wrapping his arm around Rosemary’s waist and pressing a kiss to her temple. “Geo and his roommates convinced me to go.”

“That’s so good I’m so glad you could come!”

“Yeh’ve had a little bit of somethin’, haven’t yeh?” Paul had realized, over the past few weeks, that John had been right about Pi Beta Phi girls. Rosie was almost always on something or another.

“I’ve had a lot _lot_ of something.”

“John, this is Rosemary. Rosie, this is my roommate, John.”

“Nice to meet yeh,” John smiled, holding out his hand for Rosemary to shake.

“I’ve heard a lot about _you_!” Rosemary said loudly, still giggling. “You’re mean to my Paulie!”

“Rosie, love, calm down,” Paul said, as John put his hand down and cleared his throat uncomfortably. Rosemary plucked the cigarette out of Paul’s grasp and brought it to her lips.

“Ew, Paulie,” she spat seconds later, dropping the cigarette and grounding it out with her heel. “This is just a plain cigarette!”

“Yes, Rosie,” Paul sighed, “I almost never smoke anythin’ besides plain old cigs.”

“Looks like she’s a bit of a handful,” John laughed softly.

“Only when I’m high!” Rosemary sang.

“Let’s go get yeh some water or somethin’,” Paul placed his arms on Rosemary’s shoulders and gently twisted her around. “D’yeh remember what yeh took?”

“I dunno,” Rosemary shrugged, and giggled again.

“It’s time for water, then,” Paul said, and started to gently push her back into the house.

“But I don’t _wanna_ get water,” Rosemary whined.

“I guess I’ll see yeh later, then,” Paul said over his shoulder as he walked with Rosemary.

“Yeah, yeah.” John looked kind of sad.

An hour later, Paul was very drunk.

“I have got to stop doin’ this,” Paul grumbled to himself before throwing a shot of something -- vodka? Paul really wasn’t sure -- down his throat. He’d come inside with the idea of taking care of Rosemary, but he’d sort of ended up losing track of her.

“Shit, Paul,” George groaned. “I told yeh it was time to go half an hour ago.” Paul rolled his eyes but stood up with George. He reached into his pocket, suddenly desperate for another smoke, and found John’s lighter.

“I’ve gotta give this back to John,” he mumbled, waving the lighter in George’s face before shoving it back in his pocket. “It’s John’s. I don't wanna be a dick.”

“Yeh can give it to him tomorrow, can’t yeh?” Ringo said. He and George, as the designated parent-friends for the night, were obviously tired of having to keep track of their drunk friends for the night.

“I can’t, though,” Paul complained.

“Fine. Fine! Ringo and I’ve got to go find Stu and Pete anyways,” George grumbled. “Just, fer the love of God, meet back here soon. Please.”

Paul nodded and set off to find John. He looked as hard as he could, but he just couldn’t _fucking_ find John anywhere, so he went back outside. Paul fumbled around in his pockets until he pulled out his cigarettes and John’s lighter. He’d just managed to get the cigarette lit when he finally saw John.

“John! Johnny!” he yelled, and John turned around.

“Hello, Macca,” John grinned. It was obvious that he was just as drunk as Paul was, if not even more.

“I have yer lighter,” Paul said, and stuck his hand -- lighter tucked inside -- out to John.

“That’s where the bloody thing went,” John said, and giggled a little bit. “I’ve been wondering.”

“Yeah.” Paul was giggling a little bit too as John took the lighter from his hand.

“Yeah.”

“I think I like yeh a lot more when yer drunk,” Paul grinned.

“Yeh look a lot less like yer 14 when I’m drunk.”

“Mmm, so yeh think I’m cute, then?”

“I don’t think it’s possible to find a man whose eyelashes are probably longer than his cock cute,” John said, and Paul was suddenly very aware of how close he was standing to his roommate.

“It sounds an awful lot like you’re flirting with me, Lennon,” Paul smirked. He was absolutely aware of the fact that this was the alcohol speaking, but he couldn’t control himself. He didn’t really _want_ to control himself.

“I might be,” John said, and then they were kissing. And, dear _god_ , it was nice.

“James Paul McCartney!”

Paul immediately stepped away from John and turned to see who was yelling at him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said under his breath when he saw it was Rosemary.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” Rosemary grabbed Paul by the sleeve and violently pulled him away from John.

“Shit, Rosie, I dunno,” Paul said frantically, running his hands through his hair.

“Am I just chopped liver to yeh, then?” John said angrily.

“I shouldn’t have been kissin’ you!” Paul yelled. “I’ve got Rosie! I can’t fuckin’  _stand_ yeh most of the time!”

“You’re coming with me, Paul,” Rosemary said angrily. She grabbed Paul’s hand and started marching away. “I’m going to have _words_ with you!”

“What the hell did you do, Macca?” Ringo said, coming outside to see what all the noise was about.

“He fucking kissed John, Ringo, that’s what he fucking did,” Rosemary yelled as she dragged Paul behind her.

“Paul!” Ringo yelled, following Rosemary and Paul out of the party.

“I’m drunk,” Paul mumbled, stumbling after Rosemary.

“How could you?” Rosemary yelled as soon as they made it out of the house and onto the street. “It’s John! How could you kiss _John_?”

“I don’t-”

“What the hell?” Paul was going to protest until he realized there were tears in Rosemary’s eyes.

“Rosie, please-”

“I just don’t understand, Paul,” Rosemary’s voice had turned from anger to something along the lines of pleading.

“Rosie, I swear, it’ll never happen again.” Paul was surprised to find that he, too, was crying. It must’ve been the alcohol. He vaguely remembered that he was losing it in front of Geo and Ringo and Stu and Pete, but he couldn’t help it. “Please.”

“I’m not,” Rosemary paused to wipe her eyes, “I’m not breaking up with you, Paul.”

“Wha-?”

“I’m not. I’m just,” Rosemary took a deep breath, “You’re just going to have to be very careful.”

“Oh, god, _anything,_ Rosie, I mean it.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Rosemary isn’t the girl for Paul.

“Where _were_ you yesterday? You said you’d come to my dorm.” Rosemary asked accusingly. She was sitting on the small couch in Paul’s dorm with her arms crossed, and she was scowling at the man standing in front of her.

“Rosie, I told yeh,” Paul sighed frustratedly, “I had to stay late to ask my expository writing professor some questions.”

“When did you tell me that?” Rosemary crossed her arms and glared at Paul. “I don’t remember you saying anything.”

“I told yeh three or four times over the past week that I’d be stayin’ a little late.”

“You never tell me what’s happening, Paul!”

“I don’t bloody _have to_!” Paul was surprised at how angry he sounded. “Yeh’ve been so fuckin’ controlling lately.”

“It’s because I can’t _trust_ you! I left you alone for an hour and you decided to make out with your roommate!”

“I didn’t make out with him! It was one kiss. One kiss that was two weeks ago. That’s hardly enough to be so controllin’ over!”

“All right, then,” Rosemary said curtly. “If you’re really so mad about me being ‘so controlling,’ break up with me.” She sat, arms still crossed, a smug look on her face, and waited for Paul to do it. She knew he wouldn’t. For whatever reason, Paul was incapable of breaking up with Rosemary. He’d tried many times, opened his mouth to say the words, but nothing would come out. He just could _not_ break up with Rosemary.

He looked at her and shrugged hopelessly, his heart sinking the tiniest bit when he saw Rosie’s eyes light up confidently.

“That’s what I thought.” The cruel smile that plastered itself on Rosemary’s face made Paul feel sick. She had complete and total control over him, and she knew it.

“Are yeh goin’ to stay here forever, or can I get some of my work done?” Paul said angrily.

“Can I really trust you, though, Paul?”

“I live with ‘im! Yer goin’ t’have to learn to trust me at some point.”

“At some point, I may,” Rosemary shrugged. “Just, maybe, not quite yet.”

“Look, Rosemary, I know I’ve fucked up, but I can’t get any better if yeh don’t _bloody_ let me!”

“Don’t make me angry, Paul McCartney,” Rosemary said, her voice warning.

“And why shouldn’t I? Yeh’ve been makin’ me pretty angry lately.”

“At least I didn’t cheat on you!” Rosemary got off of the couch and stood in front of Paul, glaring fiercely. Though she was, at just over five feet, at least eight inches shorter than Paul, he felt like cowering down in front of her. He managed to hold his own as her eyes of steel stared him down. “You don't have the _right_ to say that I’ve been making you angry.”

“But yeh have, Rosie. Yeh’ve been makin’ me feel awful. I’ve apologized dozens of times, I haven’t spoken to John since. It’s been even worse livin’ with him then after he punched me.” Paul took a breath, tried to recollect himself. The worst thing that could happen to him right now was if his voice cracked from emotion. “I’ve apologized, Rosie, over and over, and I don’t know what else I can do. So yeah, yeh have been makin’ me angry lately.”

She slapped him. She slapped him as hard as she could, and then she used the same hand to slap him again, and Paul was left clutching his cheek as Rosemary stormed out of his dorm. Paul hobbled to the freezer, prayed that John had remembered to buy ice like he was supposed to, and sighed in relief before filling a ziplock bag with ice and holding it where Rosemary had slapped him.

When John came home later that night, he saw Paul passed out on the couch, a ziplock bag that was now full of water against the younger boy’s cheek. He was about to shrug it off and go to sleep himself when he noticed the nasty bruise forming on the left half of his roommate’s face. Someone had slapped Paul _very_ hard.

John sighed, then went and got the blanket off of Paul’s bed. He came back to the couch and gently spread the blanket out on top of his roommate.

“Oh, Macca,” he sighed. “What have yeh gotten yerself into?”

“Ah,” Paul winced as he gingerly touched his bruised cheek the next morning. “It’s bad, isn’t it John?” He might have lied a little bit to Rosemary earlier. Paul and John were _definitely_ back on speaking terms.

“It’s not great, lad,” John admitted. “Who hit yeh?”

“Em, no one,” Paul responded.

“Oh, so no one is yer new pet name fer Rosemary, is it, like?”

“How’d yeh know it was her?”

“I didn’t. I guessed.” John sounded angry. “Why’d she het yeh?”

“I dunno,” Paul lied.

“Yer bloody lyin’ t’me, aren’t yeh? She can't do this to yeh, Paul.”

“Almost every time we fight, it’s about this, John,” Paul sighed. “Yeh keep tryin’ to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“It’s different this time, Macca,” John pleaded. “She hurt yeh. That’s-”

“None of yer business,” Paul said firmly. “I’m goin’ t’see Geo. He’ll know how to deal with the bruise.” Paul pulled on a coat and opened the door to their dorm.

“Have fun,” John sighed.

“Thanks,” Paul smiled, stepping outside. “Oh, and John?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re not really s’posed t’talk.”

John just sighed and watched his roommate walk away.

“Paulie!” George cried when he saw his friend. Paul grinned sheepishly and stepped inside the dorm with Geo and his roommates.

“Jesus,” Stu breathed when he saw Paul. “What happened?”

“I got hit,” Paul shrugged.

“Well, no kidding,” Ringo said sarcastically. “But how?”

“Rosemary,” Paul sighed.

“That bitch!” Ringo yelled.

“I’ll fuck her up,” Pete warned.

“Oh, god, Paul,” Geo said sorrowfully.

“I just want a shot of something,” Paul said longingly.

“No, alcohol will make the swellin’ worse. Right now yeh just need ice, or frozen somethin’,” George fretted.

“Paul, that’s not-” Ringo began.

“Yer as bad as John! I jus’ wanted to come and see my mates, relax a little bit or somethin’,” Paul complained. “Please jus’ let me be.”

“Fine,” George sighed grudgingly. “We were just about to go out to lunch. D’you wanna come with us?”

“I dunno, mate, does my face look well enough?”

“If anybody’s mean about it, Paulie, I’ll beat ‘im up for yeh,” George said, and everybody laughed. “Let’s go then, mate.”

Paul followed his friends and their roommates out of the dorm.

“For Christ’s sake, lads,” Paul groaned as they walked into an iHop several minutes later. “iHop?”

“Macca, we know you love iHop just as much as the rest of us do,” Stu laughed, clapping his friend on the back.”

“Well, since Geo is the only one who bloody likes it, I guess yer not wrong,” Paul laughed, and Pete grinned and shook his head.

“You think you’re so funny,” Pete rolled his eyes as they hostess took the boys to their table.

“Thanks, love. Yer a pretty one, aren’t yeh?” Stu asked before he sat down, kissing the hostess’s hand. She blushed and mumbled a “thank you” before leaving the table.

“Stu, haven’t you got Astrid?” Ringo asked as Stu followed the hostess with his eyes. At the mention of his gilfriend, Stu turned back to the rest of the group.

“Oh, _haven’t_ I,” he said, eyes wide. “Oh, Astrid,” he began sarcastically, “the love of my life, the apple of my eye! My one true love-”

“Oi, shut up, would yeh?” George lightly punched his friend on the arm as a new girl -- the waitress, Paul assumed -- set water glasses down in front of each of them.

“Geo,” Paul laughed, “lad, this is how we feel when yeh talk about Pattie nonstop.” The rest of the table nodded in agreement, and George threw his hands up in mock surrender, laughing.

“All right, all right,” George grinned. “One last toast fer the girls, then they’re off limits for the rest of lunch. We’re manly men, damnit!”

“Oh, yeah,” Stu rolled his eyes. “We sure are manly men. Manly men eating Saturday brunch at an iHop.”

“Is there ever a time when yer not bein’ a sarcastic fuck?” Paul asked, pretending to be genuinely curious.

“Kiss my ass, Paulie.”

“Sod off, you two,” George laughed, raising his glass of water. “To Pattie!”

“To Mo,” Ringo lifted his glass with George’s.

“From little Dicky,” snickered Pete, who almost spilled his water as Ringo bumped his shoulder.

“My sweet, sweet Astrid.” Stu raised his glass.

“To Kathy,” Pete grinned, “providing she gets her head out of her ass and realizes she does actually want to date me.”

“To Rosemary,” Paul joined in. “Here’s hoping she stops hatin’ me sooner rather than later.”

“Oh, Paulie,” George said quietly, so quietly that Paul wasn’t sure if anybody else heard him, right before they clinked glasses. Paul couldn’t help but hear the twinge of pity in George’s voice.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John decides to do something about Rosemary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. I'm sorry.  
> Also, sorry for the shameless Monkees reference towards the end. What can I say: I'm trash.  
> Now that I'm (finally) starting to settle into summer, hopefully I'll be able to update more often.  
> (Thank you so much to everyone who's commented. It really means a lot to me.)

“Fer Christ’s sake, Paul, can yeh not keep it down?” John said angrily. “Where’d yeh even get the acoustic?”

“It’s George’s,” Paul said wearily. He set the guitar he’d been lightly strumming down and gazed across the bedroom at his roommate. “Sorry fer bein’ too loud.”

“It’s really all right.” John was thrown off by how _sad_ Paul sounded. Between that and his earlier comments, John had expected the younger boy to fight back or something, not just accept it. “I’m jus’ tryin t’study fer my maths exam.”

Paul just shrugged. He’d spent most of his day -- as well as most of them before it -- with Rosemary, and it had worn him out.

“Why d’you say such awful things to me?” Paul asked a few minutes later, and John’s head jerked up.

“Yeh make it so easy to,” John shrugged, trying to comb over the fact that he still looked a little bit shocked that Paul had said something. “I know I shouldn’t but yeh just don’t fight back anymore.”

“I do too,” Paul said, but he didn’t sound as though he actually believed the words.

“Well, yeh used to,” John said, and then added, under his breath, “at least yeh did up until yeh met Rosemary.”

“What about Rosie?”

“She’s drainin’ the life out of yeh, Paul.”

“No she’s-”

“Yes, Macca, she is. It’s plain as day,” John set his maths book down, “And I don’t even know yeh all that well.” Paul just sat silently for a moment. He knew his roommate was right, but he wasn’t willing to own up to it so early.

“Well, she’s comin’ over tonight.”

“She’s not comin’ in our dorm, that’s fer sure.”

“Yeh can’t just keep her out of our dorm forever, can yeh?”

“Honestly, Paul, I wish I could keep her out of yer life forever. But I’m not goin’ to make you break up with her. But I do get t’have a say in who comes in and out of our dorm.”

“John, I don’t think you understand, I can’t just-”

“Yes. Yeh can, Paulie,” John said firmly. “Hate me for the rest of my life, fer all I care, but Rosemary’s not goin’ to come in our dorm.”

“Oh, god,” Paul sighed. “Fine then.”

“See, Macca, this is what I mean!” John sounded frustrated. “A few weeks ago you’d’ve been screamin’ at me over somethin’ like this. She’s suckin’ the life out of yeh.”

“Sod off,” Paul grumbled. “Rosemary’ll be here any minute. Let me just go tell her to fuck off.”

“Yeh don’t have to be a dick about it, like.”

“That’s how she’ll see it,” Paul said, just as there were knocks on the door.

“Go get ‘em,” John said, making a feeble attempt at humor. Paul just smiled tiredly as he walked towards the door.

“She’s goin’ to end my bloody life, John.”

John heard Rosemary excitedly greet Paul, then heard Paul quietly say something, then heard Rosemary start to get angry.

“Rosie, he just doesn’t want yeh in here,” Paul was desperately trying to calm her down, “it doesn’t mean I don’t want to see yeh anymore.”

“Paul, it sort of sounds like you don’t want to be with me anymore.”

“No, Rosie, I do want to be with yeh,” Paul was practically begging at this point, “John’s just bein’ a dick and doesn’t want yeh in the dorm.”

“If you really cared about me, Paul, you’d try and convince John otherwise.”

“It’s his dorm too.”

“Paul, it’s starting to look like you don’t really care about me anymore.”

“I do care about yeh, Rosie, it’s jus’ that John doesn’t want yeh in our dorm. I can’t control that, can I?”

“You could if you put your mind to it.”

“No, Rosie, I-”

“Go on. Go talk to John. Convince him that I’m allowed in here.”

“I can-”

“Talk to him,” Rosemary said sternly.

“No.”

“Did you just say _no_?” Rosemary said, surprise evident in her voice.

“I did, yeah. Because it’s John’s dorm too, isn’t it? And he’s got a say in who can and can’t come in here, doesn’t he?” Paul was nervous -- he was terrified of standing up to Rosemary -- but he did his best to put on a brave face. “And I think it’s okay that he doesn’t want you in here.”

“James Paul-”

“Yeh’ve been horrible, Rosie. Yeh’ve been horrible to John, yeh’ve been horrible to me. I’m fuckin’ tired of it.” Rosemary couldn’t find the words to respond, she just stood there, mouth wide open, as Paul yelled. “I’m tired of it. So yeh can get _over_ the fact that John doesn’t want yeh in here, or yeh just bloody leave.”

Paul surprised himself when he realized he was holding back tears. He wasn’t a very emotional person, mostly, but it was hard to yell at Rosemary. There was a moment of silence -- probably nine or ten seconds at most, though it felt like several minutes had passed -- before Paul said anything else.

“I guess that answers the question,” he said solemnly. “Leave.”

“Paul, no, you don’t-”

“Leave, Rosemary. Please, just-” Paul wiped at his nose, “leave.”

Rosemary left. She glared at Paul as she walked, all the way until she was completely out of sight. Paul watched her until he couldn’t see her anymore, and then he sat looking in the direction she’d gone.

“Paul, are yeh goin’ to come back in and shut the door?” John said a few minutes later. John heard his roommate get up, and shuffle around a little bit before closing the door and coming back to the part of the dorm where the beds were.

“That didn’t sound like too much fun,” John said, almost indifferently, as Paul walked over towards his side of the room and picked up George’s guitar.

“I feel better, though. D’yeh mind if I play somethin’?” Paul set the guitar on his lap as John looked up from his books. “Are yeh still studyin’ fer the bloody maths exam?”

“I am, yeah, but I need to take a break anyways.”

“I can play, then?”

“Only if it’s somethin’ I like,” John laughed softly, pleased when he saw a small smile break out on Paul’s face.

“D’yeh have any requests?”

“What song were yeh playin’ earlier? When I told yeh to be quiet?”

“Oh, that’s,” Paul’s face started to turn a nice shade of red, “that’s nothin’.”

“It sounded nice,” John shrugged.

“It’s a stupid song from the seventies,” Paul shrugged. “I like the oldies, I guess.”

“Maybe I like stupid songs from the seventies, too,” John grinned. “What’s it called?”

“‘Love Grows,’’ Paul’s face grew even redder.”

“Jesus,” John laughed, “that’s the one about a girl named Rosemary isn’t it?”

“It may or may not be,” Paul admitted. “It’s a good song though.”

“Well, go on then,” John nodded at the guitar, “play us a little bit of your Rosemary song.”

“‘S’not _my_ Rosemary song,” Paul shrugged before starting to play the guitar. He’d just opened his mouth to sing the first words of the song when he heard John start to sing.

“Yeh can sing?” Paul was so shocked that he stopped playing to stare at his roommate.

“If there’s some bloody music to accompany me, like,” John grinned. “Can I see the guitar?”

“Be very careful with it,” Paul warned, handing the guitar to John. “Geo will actually end my life if anythin’ happens to his guitar.”

“I’ll be careful. Promise.” John crossed his heart and looked very sincerely at Paul, who was trying not to laugh.

“Okay. Go ahead.” Paul smiled as John started to strum. “Hey, I know this song!”

“Bloody Monkees fan, aren’t yeh?” John laughed.

“What can I say,” Paul was back to blushing, “I like the oldies, I guess.”

John played and Paul sang, and then Paul played while John sang, and then they sang together. It was the first time that Paul had really and truly gotten along with his roommate. There was no stupid fight about nothing afterwards. They were just having fun.

“This has been fun,” John said, handing the guitar back to Paul. “But I’ve got to finish studying. This bloody maths exam is going to kill me.”

“Would that really be such a bad outcome?” Paul rolled his eyes, but he was grinning as he set George’s guitar down.

“There’s the insufferable Paul I know,” John said, sound almost smug. “See, thirty minutes without Rosemary, and yer already doin’ better.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul talks to somebody he hasn't talked to in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a short one, but some important things happen, so I'm hoping that sort of makes up for it. Enjoy!

“Can yeh please _not_ throw pillows at me at two in the fuckin’ mornin’?”

“Yeh were hummin’ that bloody Rosemary song,” John grumbled. “It was loud. I want sleep.” Paul fumbled around for the pillow John had thrown at him before throwing it back to his roommate.

“I don’t fuckin’ hum in my sleep.”

“Well that’s what yeh were jus’ doing.” Even in the dark room, Paul could feel John glaring at him. It seemed as though the happy man he’d played the guitar with from a few hours ago was gone, and he’d been replaced with the John that Paul knew. Maybe it was just the fact that it was so early that was making John grumpy. “That Rosemary bitch must have you pretty fucked up, if yer thinkin’ about her in yer fuckin’ sleep.”

“Sod off,” Paul whined. “If yeh want to sleep so badly, go back to sleep.”

“If yeh can stop hummin’ in yer sleep, then yeah, I’ll go back to sleep.”

“Oi, fuck off,” Paul muttered, rolling over and pulling the covers up to his chin. “I’m goin’ to sleep, and oh well if I keep yeh up.”

“I already asked yeh to _not_ throw pillows at me!” Paul said angrily. It was six hours later and John had thrown yet another pillow at Paul.

“Yer bloody phone’s been ringing off the hook. I thought I’d be nice and wake yeh up before I fuckin’ smash it.”

“How considerate of yeh,” Paul said sarcastically, sitting up and grabbing his phone off of the nightstand. “Shit, it’s me brother. D’yeh mind? Can I not have some privacy?”

“Can I not have some privacy?” John said, mocking Paul. “Yeh can go into the other room if yeh really want privacy.”

“Jesus,” Paul rolled his eyes, climbing off of his bed and answering the phone. “Hey, Mikey.”

“Paulie!” Mike said on the other end. “‘S’been a while.”

“Hasn’t been too long, has it?” Paul asked, closing the door to the bedroom behind him and walking towards their little couch.

“Close to two weeks,” Mike sighed, and Paul felt a twinge of guilt. He hadn’t realized how long it’d been since he’d talked to his family. “Angie’s been a bit worried about yeh, but Dad keeps sayin’ that yer in uni, yeh won’t call us all the time.”

“Shit, Mike, I really hadn’t realized it’d been so long. Tell Angie and Dad I’m sorry, will yeh?”

“Of course, yeah. But right now,” Mike sounded sort of uneasy, “Ruthie wants to know if she can talk to yeh.”

“Um,” Paul wasn’t sure how to respond. He and his stepsister hadn’t been on speaking terms for several months at this point. “Is she not goin’ to be a bitch to me?”

“She says she wants to apologize, fer whatever that’s worth.”

“D’yeh even know why we’re fighting?”

“She’s told me a bit, yeah. I’m not sayin’ yeh need to forgive her instantly or anythin’. God knows I wouldn’t, but yeh should at least hear her out.”

“Then I guess, yeah, I’ll talk to her,” Paul sighed. Paul could hear Mike giving the phone to Ruthie, and heard his brother mutter “be nice” under his breath. Paul, who was sat on the couch, nervously drummed his fingers on his knee as he waited for his stepsister to say something.

“Hi, Paul.” She was obviously nervous.

“Hello, Ruthie. It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess it has been.” A moment of awkward silence. “I want to apologize, Paul.”

“Yeh’ve had quite a while to do that, haven’t yeh?” Paul tried to hold his tongue, but he couldn’t help but be sort of salty towards his stepsister.

“Paul, please,” Ruthie sounded a little frustrated now, “let me apologize. I said awful things to you, when you came out to Mum and Jim, bloody awful things, and I shouldn’t have said them.”

“No, yeh bloody well shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I want yeh to know that I don’t think yer an awful person. I don’t think yer goin’ to hell, and I don’t think yer confused or greedy or anythin’.” Ruthie took a deep breath. “I don’t know what came over me, and I’m sorry. I’m so bloody sorry.”

“What makes yeh bring this up now? After weeks of not talking to me, and then not even sayin’ goodbye to me when I left for uni? That really hurt, Ruthie.”

“I’ve got a girlfriend, Paul. Her name’s Lucy, and she means the world to me, and it’s because of you that I’ve got her.”

“Please, expand on that a little bit for me,” Paul said, nonplussed. “Because that makes no bloody sense.”

“I had a lot of,” Ruthie searched for the words, “internalized stuff. I thought I was gay, but I was havin’ some trouble dealing with that. And then,” Ruthie sniffled a little bit,” and then yeh came out, and yeh seemed so bloody _comfortable_ with it, and I lashed out.”

“What exactly does that have to do with me helpin’ you get a girl, then?”

“As stupid and cheesy as this is -- and believe me, I know it’s bloody ridiculous -- but yeh made me realize that I just need to go with what I’m feeling. And if that means that I’d rather kiss a girl than a boy,” Paul could practically see his stepsister shrugging, back home in Liverpool, “then I should go get the girl.”

“That,” Paul hesitated, he couldn’t find the words, “that’s good. I’m glad that in some twisted way, I helped yeh.”

“Accept my apology?” Ruthie sounded hopeful. “Please?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Paul grinned widely, “I’m jus’ glad we’re back on speaking terms, then.”

“Oh, good,” Ruthie said excitedly. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

“I’ve got to go,” Paul said as John walked into the room, “but it was good to talk to you.”

“Okay. Thank yeh fer not gettin’ angry.”

“Tell Mike to have Angie and Dad call me when they get home, will yeh?”

“Of course. Bye, Paul.”

“Bye, Ruthie. Have fun with Lucy.”

“Who was that, then?” John asked as Paul hung up.

“My stepsister.”

“Yeh had a nice little heart-to-heart there, didn’t yeh?”

“John, I said I wanted some bloody privacy, didn't I?” Paul said, exasperated.

“Yeh talk loud,” John shrugged.

“Thanks fer that. I’m goin’ to Geo’s for a while. Got to give his guitar back.”

While Paul walked to Geo’s dorm, he thought about what Ruthie had said. He thought about what she’d said about going with what she felt, and as cheesy and corny as it was, he couldn’t help but take it straight to heart.

“Hey, Geo, Ringo,” Paul smiled, stepping into their dorm.

“Yeh brought my guitar back!” George said excitedly, grabbing the guitar from Paul’s hands. “Oh, I’ve missed yeh.”

“How’re Pattie and Mo doing?”

“I’m actually going to have brunch with Mo at some fancy restaurant in a little bit,” Ringo smiled.

“Pattie’s already making plans for every single day that I’m back in Liverpool.” George sighed, but if was a half-hearted sigh. Paul knew that George was beyond excited to be able to see Pattie again.

“That’s nice,” Paul said, and he genuinely meant it. “I’ve got to talk about John.”

“Oh, here we go again,” George rolled his eyes. “What’s he done this time?”

“He hasn’t done anything, for once,” Paul smiled softly. “It’s me.”

“What’ve _yeh_ done this time?” Ringo said, slightly amazed that for once John hadn’t done something wrong.

“I think,” Paul took a deep breath, “I think I like him.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finals are really stressing John out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! As you may have noticed, this is the next to last chapter of this fic, which means that very soon I will be needing more things to write! If there's anything classic rock (Beatles or Monkees preferred though) related that you want me to write, please message me with a prompt! (preferably on my tumblr @satudays-child)  
> Anyways, thanks so much to everyone who's gotten this far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

“Did yeh get the energy drinks?” John asked hopefully, looking up from his books as Paul entered the room.

“As many as I could fuckin’ carry,” Paul grinned, setting bags of the drinks on the floor next to their books. It was the tail end of finals week, and Paul was helping John study for their last final: college algebra.

“I’ve been tryin’,” John said, cracking open one of the drinks and taking a sip, “but I can’t fucking figure out where x is supposed to go.”

“It’s a quadratic equation, John,” Paul sat down next to John and pointed at the problem. “The x goes after the x squared bit.”

“Jesus fuck,” John sighed, frustrated. “How does this make sense to yeh?”

“I’ve been payin’ attention in class,” Paul shrugged. “I also remember this from school.”

“Sod off. If I drink too many of these and look like I’m having a heart attack, let me die. It’ll be easier then dealing with these bloody finals.”

“Yeh don’t need to tell me twice,” Paul grinned. “I’d let yeh die anyways.”

“Oh, thanks, mate,” John said sarcastically. “Now please, fer the love of _Christ_ , tell me how to solve these equations.”

“We’re taking a break,” Paul announced two hours later. “Just fer five minutes.”

“I don’t need a break,” John smiled lazily.

“Yes, yeh do. Yer eyes are glassy but yer whole bloody arm won't stop shakin’. No more energy drinks for yeh, lad.”

“I don’t need a break,” John slurred, but he set down his notebook and turned to look at Paul.

“There we go,” Paul heaved a sigh of relief. He’d been trying to get John to take a break on and off for almost half an hour. “Do yeh have any plans fer break?”

“Home. Family. Sleep,” John mumbled. “No maths. Are yeh goin’ home?”

“Yeah,” Paul smiled wistfully. “I’ve been away fer too long. Leavin’ tomorrow right after this bloody final.”

“That’s,” John slowly searched his brain for the word, “abrupt.”

“I guess it is, yeah.”

“Can I go back to studyin’ now?” Paul studied his roommate’s face. John still looked tired, but he didn’t look _as_ high anymore. And his hands weren’t shaking _as_ much.

“Yeah,” Paul sighed. “I’m goin’ to sleep. If yeh need help with anythin’, wake me up.”

“Don’t wanna be a bother.”

“Yeh won’t be,” Paul said, the sharpness of his voice surprising him. “Just wake me up.” Paul stripped down to his boxers -- after admitting to himself how he felt about John, he was more self-conscious then ever, but if he suddenly started acting like a prude, John might suspect something -- and crawled into his bed.

He looked up at the ceiling for a while, kept awake both by John’s random screams of frustration and his own thoughts. Paul had never _liked_ a boy before. He’d liked how they looked, yes, and he’d liked kissing and fucking them, but he’d never wanted to just hug one before. Not that he didn’t want to kiss -- and, okay, maybe fuck -- John, but Paul would be over the moon just to sit in the older man’s arms for hours on end.

Paul shook his head, shook himself out of his daydream. It was bloody ridiculous to think about him and John. Especially when John...tolerated him, at best. Paul was just beginning to drift off to sleep when he was shaken awake by a frantic-looking John.

“Paul? Paulie?”

“Yeah?” Paul mumbled, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What’s wrong, John?”

“I don’t get it! I don’t know what’s happening, and I’m gonna fail my exam and be a failure and I can’t do it, Paul, I can’t do it.” John was panicky, and he was either on the verge of tears or he was actually crying, Paul couldn’t tell.

“Shh, John, it’s all right,” Paul murmured comfortingly, climbing out of the bed to sit on the floor next to John. “Yer not goin’ to fail yer exam.”

“But I _am_ ,” John was full-on sobbing at this point, “and Mimi won’t let me come back here for college next semester if I fail.” Paul wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around John, hold him close, comfort him. But he felt like that would be crossing a bit of a line.

“Mimi will let yeh come back, because yer not goin’ to fail this class.” Paul did his best to be as reassuring as he could -- he’d had to play comforter dozens of times for Mike and then Ruthie -- but it was harder when he couldn’t hug the person he was trying to comfort. Just when Paul was starting to feel utterly useless, John leaned into him. Awkwardly, Paul wrapped his arm around John and let his roommate cry into his shoulder.

“Shh, John, it’s okay,” Paul whispered into John’s hair, his lips mere millimeters from the other’s head. Paul resisted the urge to lean in just the tiniest bit closer and press a kiss to John’s head. They stayed like that, Paul whispering kind things and rubbing John’s back, until John’s shoulders gradually stopped shaking and Paul was mostly sure he was asleep. Paul waited a few more minutes before gently sliding out from under the weight of his roommate.

Paul didn’t think he could pick the older man up -- John wasn’t a small man, height wise, and Paul was much weaker than he looked -- so he settled for draping a blanket over John. Once he was sure John was as comfortable as he could be, Paul set about tidying up the mess John had made. He picked up fourteen energy drink cans and wondered how on _earth_ John hadn’t had a heart attack before crawling back under the covers of his own bed.

Paul had hoped that John had been much too out of it to remember what had happened last night, but luck was not on his side.

“Em, thanks fer,” John paused a moment, and Paul felt his heart speed up, “fer helpin’ me with whatever the hell happened last night.”

“Of course, yeah,” Paul grinned awkwardly, and that was the end of their conversation. They walked to the final together, but didn’t say much, and Paul finished much before John so he walked back to the dorm by himself.

Paul was shoving the last of his things into his carry-on bag when John made it back to their dorm.

“Are yeh really goin’ so soon?” John asked, and Paul was a little surprised to hear a twinge of sadness in John’s voice.

“My cab gets here in fifteen minutes,” Paul shrugged.

“We are still goin’ to be, y’know, roommates when yeh get back, right?”

“Of course, John,” Paul looked up at John, confused, “why wouldn’t we be?”

“I dunno,” John shrugged. “I just kinda thought that after everythin’ that happened, yeh might not want to be roommates anymore.”

“Yer not a bad roommate,” Paul smiled. “Yer clean, yeh don’t use the kitchen ever, and yeh kick mean girls out of the dorm.”

“Yeh mean it?” John somehow managed to sound both hopeful and doubtful at the same time.

“Yeah. I do.”

As one final surprise, John hugged Paul before he got into the cab.

“Have a safe flight, okay? I don’t want to have to track down a pilot and give him a piece of my mind if I found out yeh’ve been hurt or something.”

“I’ll do my best,” Paul grinned, “but I can’t really fly the plane, can I?”

“I guess not.”

“I’ll see yeh in a few weeks, lad. We’re goin’ to the same city anyways.” Paul said as he stepped into the cab.

“Yeah, but Mimi’s taking me somewhere tropical for holiday. I won’t be in Liverpool long.” Not for the first time, Paul wondered who Mimi was, but he figured now wasn’t the time for questions.

“Have fun on holiday, then,” Paul smiled. “Bye, Lennon.”

“Adios, Macca.” John had a bittersweet smile on his lips, and Paul couldn't help but feel the same way. He didn’t really want to leave John behind.

By the time Paul made it back to Liverpool, almost a full day had passed. He’d had a connecting flight, and spent almost seven hours in Vancouver before getting on a plane that would take him to London, and then he’d had to ride the train to Liverpool. He’d wanted nothing more than to sleep for several days, and then he saw his family waiting for him at the train station, and he could barely contain himself. As soon as he could, Paul grabbed what bag was with him and ran as fast as he could to his family. Angie smothered him with a hug while Jim went to get the rest of Paul’s luggage, and even Mike was up for a hug from Paul.

“Hello, Ruthie,” Paul was grinning from ear to ear, and Ruthie smiled back at him, a little nervously.

“Welcome home, Paul,” Ruthie said, and then they were hugging. It was the first time they’d spoken to each other -- in person -- in months.

“Yeh’ve got to tell us _everything_ ,” Angie smiled as Jim returned with luggage and they started walking towards the car.

“Yeah,” Mike grinned, poking Paul on the shoulder. “ _Everything._ ” Paul scowled at his younger brother, and Mike stifled a laugh.

“Let the boy rest,” Jim grumbled, “he’s traveled a lot. Boy’s tired.”

“‘S’okay, Dad,” Paul smiled. “It’s just good to be back.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has really missed Paul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. The end of the fic.  
> Thank you so much to everyone who's read this, and everyone who's left kudos and comments. It means an incredible amount to me. (And remember: more comments are always appreciated)

“Shit!” Paul said loudly, not caring when the people in the airport around him turned to stare. He’d missed his bloody flight back to uni. “Shit, shit, shit!’

“Paul. control your mouth,” Angie murmured, but her heart wasn’t in the words. “At least we didn’t check your baggage,” she smiled half-heartedly, and Paul sighed. At least he hadn’t checked his luggage.

“C’mon, then,” Jim sighed. “I wish we could get away with just letting yeh stay here, but let’s see about gettin’ yeh on another flight.”

“‘M’sorry I made yeh miss the flight,” Ruthie said sadly. She’d begged to come along to say goodbye to Paul, but then she’d taken too long getting ready. Mike, being Mike, had gone to play a game of football with his mates instead of say goodbye to his older brother.

“S’okay, Ruthie,” Paul smiled, ruffling her hair and laughing as she swatted his hands away. She might have been fifteen, but Paul still treated his stepsister as though she was nine or ten sometimes. “I don’t mind stayin’ in England a bit longer.”

Paul, being the fantastic older brother that he was, listened to Ruthie talk about everything happening in school -- mostly stories she’d already told him, but he really didn’t mind hearing them another time -- while Angie and Jim tried to get him on another flight.

“Good news, lad,” Jim grinned, walking over to the pair. “Yer on another flight that’s leaving in an hour. We’ve got to haul ass to get yeh to the gate, though.”

“Let’s haul ass, then,” Paul grinned, and off they went. They made it to the gate with just a few minutes to spare, which meant they had to have hurried goodbyes. Paul was a bit shocked -- but a little bit pleased, in an odd way -- when Ruthie wiped a tear from her eye and said she’d miss Paul. Last time he'd gotten on a flight after saying goodbye to her, she'd glared at him with cold eyes the entire time.

Paul was almost so excited to get back and see John that he _almost_ couldn’t fall asleep on the plane. Almost.

When he did get back to the dorm, hauling his bags behind him, he opened the door to find John pacing around the room nervously, a bottle of beer in his hand.

“What happened to yeh, lad?” Paul asked in surprise, and John whirled around to face him.

“Oh my god! Yer back! Yeh came!” John practically yelled, and excitedly walked over to Paul.

“I said I’d be back, didn’t I?” Paul raked through his memory, trying to remember if he’d said anything that might give the impression that he wouldn’t be back after break. He found nothing.

“Yeh said yeh’d be back, but then yer a couple of hours later then yeh said yeh’d be.”

“I missed my flight, John,” Paul explained. “I didn’t change my mind all of a sudden. I’d’ve told yeh if I wasn’t comin’ back.”

“Yeh would’ve?”

“Of course, John,” Paul said, stealing the beer from John and taking a sip. “God, it’s nice to be back here. Now, be a real mate, will yeh, and help me unpack.”

While John helped Paul unpack, they talked about their breaks.

“Mimi and I went to the Bahamas,” John smiled, “and I didn’t want to come back. Honest, the most attractive people go to the Bahamas for holiday.”

“I don’t mean to be intrusive, but,” Paul said, pulling clothes out of one of his suitcases, “who exactly is Mimi?”

“Mimi’s me aunt,” John said simply, no further explanation. Paul didn’t press the matter any further. “What’d yeh do?”

“Mostly spent time with my family. Met up with some old school mates.”

“George?”

“Not a whole lot,” Paul admitted. “He spent more time with Pattie than I could possibly stand.”

As they continued to unpack Paul’s things, Paul couldn’t help but think about how truly _glad_ he was to be back at uni. Sure, he’d loved (almost) every second of being home and being with his family, but he just felt so much more like an adult in his dorm at uni. It was a feeling that Paul had hated a few months earlier, but he’d grown to like it.

He especially liked feeling like an adult when it came to certain...substances.

“I didn’t take yeh for bein’ much of a stoner,” John grinned, his eyes red and glazed.

“I’m not,” Paul giggled, “but weed is good every now and then.”

“Yeah,” John said thoughtfully, before taking another hit. Paul held his hand out, and John reluctantly passed the joint to his roommate. Paul sucked greedily at what little was left, and chuckled a little bit.

“Have yeh seen Rosemary anywhere?”

“Why the _fuck_ ,” John stole the joint back, “would yeh be thinkin’ about her?”

“Dunno,” Paul shrugged, “I just thought about her.”

“I did see her yesterday,” John admitted. “She asked about yeh.”

“God, she was hot,” Paul said wistfully. “And she got good weed sometimes.”

“She was a bitch.”

“Yer just bloody jealous of her, is what yeh are.” Paul was joking when he said it.

“So what if I am?” John said, almost defensively.

“Yer baked.” Paul could not believe what he was hearing. John had admitted to being jealous of Rosemary, of all people.

“So what if I am?” John repeated again, but more lighthearted this time. “Yer baked too.”

“Uh-huh,” Paul chuckled, in his relaxed, slightly-more-than-half-baked state. “Were yeh really jealous of Rosemary, though?”

“Who wouldn’t be?” John said it incredulously. “The bits of yeh she must’ve gotten to see...” John let the sentence hang in the air for a little bit. Paul still could not believe what he was hearing.

“Gimme that,” Paul said, grabbing the joint back and taking a long drag. “Yeh know what yer sayin’, don’t yeh?”

“I’m high, Paul, not stupid,” John rolled his eyes. “Of course I know what I’m sayin’.” Paul just giggled.

“This is like my wet dream,” Paul giggled again.

“Yer wet dream involves getting high, and then havin’ yer roommate admit he’s thought about fuckin’ yeh?” John sounded disbelieving.

“Well, mostly the roommate bit,” Paul admitted. He took another drag from the joint. “Mostly the roommate bit.”

“Well,” John smirked, “maybe we could, y’know...” John let yet another sentence hang in the air. Paul couldn’t resist. He slowly crawled over to John and leaned closer, closer, and then they were kissing, and it was everything Paul could’ve dreamed of. He’d been drunk the first time they’d kissed, and he was high now, but it was nice. _God,_ it was nice, and Paul couldn't form a coherent thought but all he knew was that he didn’t want it to stop. John’s hands were finding their way under the hem of Paul’s shirt and up his torso. Maybe it was the pot, but this was _so_ much better than when Rosemary had done the same to him, and Paul could barely concentrate on keeping his lips anywhere near John’s.

Paul thought, somewhere in the depths of his mind, that they should stop, that they were high and this wouldn’t mean anything later, but he couldn’t. John was just _too_ good. Paul took his attention away from John’s lips and pulled John’s collar aside, focusing on his roommate’s collarbone, eliciting a series of small, sharp gasps from John.

He still had some sort of control over himself, and then John slowly pulled Paul’s shirt off, and Paul lost any semblance of control he had. He was, in more than once sense of the world, absolutely _fucked._

The next morning, Paul felt a little hazy. Memories from the night before flooded his head, and then he looked down to see that John was asleep in the same bed as he was.

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” Paul whispered. The image, of John asleep in his bed, that meant everything that had happened was _real._ It was real. He and John had actually-

“Mornin’,” John smiled sleepily, and Paul’s heart all but melted right then and there.

“Mornin’, sleepy-head.”

“Did we actually-?”

“Yeah,” Paul grinned, almost sheepish but not quite.

“Hmm,” John murmured, and his smile turned from sleepy to something bordering on triumphant.

“I fucked you,” Paul said in a singsongy voice.

“Well,” John pointed out, “sort of the other way around.”

“Sod off,” Paul rolled his eyes, “let me have my moment of joy.”

“If you insist, babe.”

“Babe?”

“That is what I tend to call my significant others, yeah.”

“Oh, so who said I counted as yer significant other?” Paul asked, twirling his fingers in John’s hair.

“Yeh didn’t really think yeh’d be one of my casual fucks, did yeh?”

“I didn’t know,” Paul shrugged.

“Nah,” John smiled. “I like yeh a bit more than my casual fucks.”

“Oh, good,” Paul laughed, “that’s nice to know.”

“So, did yeh make up yer mind about the ‘babe’ bit?” John asked after a few minutes of silence, where Paul mostly played with John’s hair.

“Hmm, I don’t know, babe,” Paul said, and grinned as a pleased smile spread on John’s face. They lay there for a few more minutes, and Paul just couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking _lucky_ he was. He was just about to open his mouth and say something when John’s stomach grumbled. Loudly.

“Breakfast?” John asked hopefully, amid laughter from both himself and Paul.

“Oh, fine,” Paul sighed, sliding off of the bed. He dug around for a pair of sweatpants, and felt John’s eyes tracing his body. “John, if you keep lookin’ at me like that, yer not goin’ to get yer breakfast.”

“Would that really be such a shame?” John grinned, getting out of the bed and wrapping his arms around Paul’s waist.

“Yeh are makin’ a tempting offer,” Paul admitted, and grinned even wider than he had earlier when John pressed a kiss to his cheek. “But I’m hungry.”

“There’s nothin’ to cook in the entire dorm, Macca,” John whispered, and Paul turned around to face the other man.

“Well, then,” Paul licked his lips and raked his eyes over John's shirtless figure, “I guess breakfast will just have to wait, won't it?”


End file.
